


genero

by rexcorvidae



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Kid Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Matt Murdock, dad!devil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexcorvidae/pseuds/rexcorvidae
Summary: "Mr. Murdock, we... we believe you may have fathered one of the children in our system. The child’s parents are recently deceased, as are the relatives he was placed with after their deaths. We were hoping you would consent to a paternity test, so we could determine our steps moving forward.”What.What the fuck?_OR the self indulgent devil-dad-raises-baby-peter-au that only i was asking for. tags will be updated as i go





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> father/son, mentor/mentee matt and peter have so few fics its a crime, so i decided to write my own.

Matt Murdock had been having a good day. The owner of his favorite café gave him his coffee for free, because they were swamped with other customers and “I know you’ll be here tomorrow” (which was right), the appeals they had filed for their client last week had finally gone through and were being reviewed, and neither Foggy nor Karen had noticed his (slightly) sprained ankle, which meant no lectures about responsibility and safety and how he was giving them gray hair. It had been a _good_ day.

"Matt, I have, uh, Queens DCS on the phone for you?"

What?

Judging by her heartbeat, Karen had similar thoughts, though she was polite enough not to voice them while the social worker was waiting on the other end of the line.

He raised his eyebrows. "What do they need?"

"They wouldn't tell me.” Karen shrugged, “Just that they need to talk to you urgently." Concerning a case, maybe? An old client who needed a character reference? But then, why call him specifically, and not Nelson & Murdock?

Frowning, he nodded. and took the phone. "This is Matt Murdock."

A pleasant, if slightly harried voice, answered him promptly. "Mr. Murdock? Hi, I'm Cindy Price, with the Queen’s branch of the Department of Child Services. I was hoping to arrange an appointment for you to come to our office sometime in the near future."

“Concerning?" He prompted.

Cindy paused. "It... It’s really not something that can be discussed over the phone, Mr. Murdock. Now, our office closes at 5 today, but I can keep it open a bit longer if your schedule is an issue. This is really a very urgent matter.”

"If it needs to be addressed urgently, why can't you explain it to me over the phone?" Matt winced internally – he hadn’t mean to snap, knew very well that she was just following protocol, but _still_. The secrecy made him nervous. Foggy and Karen frowned at him, concerned and surprised, and he clenched is jaw and pretended not to notice.

Over the phone, Cindy sighed, and Matt felt a twinge of guilt. "Mr. Murdock, we... we believe you may have fathered one of the children in our system. The child’s parents are recently deceased, as are the relatives he was placed with after their deaths. We were hoping you would consent to a paternity test, so we could determine our steps moving forward.”

What.

What the _fuck_?

Matt reached out for the edge of the desk to lean on and tried to control his breathing. "You- you think I- I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think you’ve made a mistake. That… that isn’t possible.”

He was careful, he was _always_ careful, there was no _way…_

Cindy’s heartbeat picked up slightly with agitation "Mr. Murdock, I assure you, we wouldn’t be calling if we didn’t have evidence. Now, you are, of course, free to refuse, but I should inform you that once you do so, the child will officially become a ward of the state.”

His stomach sunk. He thought about all the homes he’d bounced around between stays at St. Agnes's. About _Stick_. And the idea of throwing a kid, a kid that might be _his_ , into that world, just because he was fucking _terrified_ right now…

"I'll do it. " He said gruffly. "I'll, uh. I'm about 30 minutes away, I'll head over right away.”

Cindy sounded surprised but answered quickly. "Oh, I - alright, well, that's great. I’ll just go ahead and get the test prepped. I suppose I’ll see you soon, Mr. Murdock"

He hung up and was halfway through putting on his coat and grabbing his cane before Foggy finally broke the silence. "Matt? Buddy? Uh, you want to share with the class?"

Matt's arms slowly fell to his sides, the gravity of the situation feeling leaden his shoulders. "That was Queens’ Department of Child services. They said- they, um, have a child in their system, and they think that. They think that I might be the father. They want me to come down to their office for a paternity test."

For a moment, the office was heavy with silence, as Matt considered the situation. He might have a kid. A _kid._ One who had, apparently, recently lost all of his living relatives. _Jesus_. Of course, it might not even be his. It might just be some random child who had lost all of his living family, and was about to be thrown into the same system that had fucked _him_ up for years, and if that was the case, he would, what? Just walk away and forget about it?

And if it _was_ his kid? The idea of having someone else, a _child_ , so completely dependent on him was utterly terrifying. But what was his alternative? He’d brought this kid into the world, he and the kid’s mother, whoever she was, and she was gone, and he _owed_ it to that kid to… to at least _try_ , didn’t he?

“ _Matt._ " Karen snapped, bringing his panicked spiral to an abrupt stop. "What the _fuck_?"

Yeah, that about covered it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would nearly convince himself of those facts, convince himself that a life in foster care was for the best, and then he’d catch himself wondering if the kid had red hair like he did. Catch himself thinking of his own father, of the warm, soft, safe feeling that had lived in his chest when they were together. Catch himself wondering if he could give that same feeling to a kid – to his kid.
> 
> And, God, if he could, if there was even a chance, didn’t he have a responsibility to try to give it to him?

The DCS office smelled like paper, and coffee, and children’s toys. It was nearly close, but still crowded with bored children and their stressed, tired parents. It was odd – for a moment that felt so pivotal, the process was rather anticlimactic. The secretary had handed him a clipboard without looking up, and, when he’d tactfully cleared his throat to get her attention, gave a put-upon sigh and stalked off to find a braille copy of the consent form.

He had hoped to get some answers while he was there. Some – _any_ information about the whole situation - who the mother was, what had happened to her and the other relatives, the kid’s _name_.

However, when he conveyed this to the tech performing the DNA swab, she was largely unsympathetic. "Sorry, sir,” she’d shrugged, "But until we've confirmed that you're the child's biological parent we aren't authorized to release any of that information to you."

And Matt _knew_ , logically, that that made perfect sense. That it was, in fact, very good policy not to give out the information of vulnerable children to strangers who may or may not be biologically related to them. But he wanted _something_. Some concrete piece of information he could start to build a strategy off of, to feel less like he was stumbling through this in the dark.

"And, how long until you have the results?" He'd asked tiredly.

The tech shrugged. "Depends on the lab's workload, honestly. Anywhere from 10 to 14 days. Definitely no more than 3 weeks."

Oh. One to two weeks of stewing in his own anxiety. Joy.

Foggy and Karen were waiting anxiously upon his return. "Well?" Foggy asked before he had even made it through the doorway, "How did it go?"

Matt shrugged, exhausted. "Fine. They took the mouth swab, results should be back in a week or two." It sounded odd to say it out loud. One to two weeks to prepare himself for the possibility of being a father.

"What about the kid?" Karen added, "Did they tell you a name, or...?"

"They wouldn't tell me anything. It's all confidential until they know if I'm his father or not."

He found that bothered him more than it probably should have. After all, the kid might not even be _his._ But this odd, panicky feeling had begun gnawing at the back of his mind, ever since he got that first phone call, whispering _what if he’s hurt, what if he’s sick,_ and it urged him to yell at everyone in the DCS office until one of them gave him _answers_. It was a new feeling, and a little alarming in its intensity.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do if he's yours?" Foggy prompted gently.

Matt sighed, rubbing at his forehead where he felt a sharp headache coming on. "I don't know." He answered honestly, "I mean, I have to at least… I can’t just leave him alone."

"What about... you know..." Foggy trailed off, and Karen snorted.

"He's doing the horns thing," she informed him helpfully.

Matt aimed a Look in Foggy's general direction. "You know, that isn't nearly as subtle as you think it is."

He didn't need sight to know that Foggy was rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Stop avoiding the question, counselor."

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "I can't stop."

He hated, suddenly, how true it felt. He _couldn't_ stop. He’d _tried_ , and he’d nearly gone insane. And since he couldn’t, how could he even be considering dragging another person into this? A _child_?

Since Foggy and Karen had gotten involved, Matt had made more of an effort to be careful, remembering the seriousness in Foggy's voice. _"I don't want to lose you."._

This was different, though. If he died as Daredevil, Foggy and Karen would be hurt, and they would mourn, but they were _adults._ They could move on.

This was a kid who had lost all of his family. If Matt died, he’d be alone, _again_. He would be all that kid had. God, that was a terrifying thought. And even if he managed not to get himself killed, if someone found out his identity.... He pursed his lips and pushed the thought down before it could get any darker.

" _Matt._ " Judging by his tone, Foggy was having similar thoughts. “This is a _kid_ , you can’t just-“

"I know." He snapped. Then, softer, “I know. I just... I need time to think about this." He thought about the tech from earlier. _10 to 14 days. No more than three weeks._

Tick tock.

-

Matt had always considered himself a fairly intelligent and decisive person. He'd graduated from Columbia, for God's sake. He knew how to look at the facts of a case, make judgments about them, and prepare a fitting strategy. It was what made him a good lawyer.

Hell, it was a large part of what made him good at being _Daredevil_.

So, he was understandably distressed when 12 business days had come and gone, and he still had no fucking idea what to do about his potential kid.

Here was the issue. The rub. He could look at a list of facts about himself – his bevy of emotional issues that he was successfully repressing, his vigilante lifestyle – and say solidly that he would not be a good father. These were facts, and they were concrete, and normally they were all he needed come to a decision like this.

But.

_But._

He would nearly convince himself of those facts, convince himself that a life in foster care was for the best, and then he’d catch himself wondering if the kid had red hair like he did. Catch himself thinking of his own father, of the warm, soft, _safe_ feeling that had lived in his chest when they were together. Catch himself wondering if he could give that same feeling to a kid – to _his_ kid.

And, God, if he could, if there was even a chance, didn’t he have a responsibility to try to give it to him?

That warmth – that safety – that was what Matt had missed most after his father died. It left a gaping, bleeding hole in him, one that he’d thought Stick would fill.

Stick had taught him, instead, to ignore that pain – to push through it until he could provide for his own safety, because he was a soldier, and soldiers do not need to be held, or comforted, or soothed.

And when he imagined letting his kid grow up like that, not having anyone who made him feel safe, and cared for, and _loved_ \- it felt, bizarrely, like losing his father again.

And he could change, couldn’t he? Maybe he couldn’t stop, not completely, but he could… adjust. Adapt. Surely, surely he’d be able to do that for his child.

 _But_ , a contrary voice in his head would snap _what if you can’t?_

And the cycle would start again.

He felt like a train stuck on a track, unable to move, or even get a better vantage point to navigate from. Foggy accused him of turning into "Broody McBrooderson" again, which was fair, but also, in his personal opinion, entirely justified given the circumstances.

It was during the middle of one of these circular arguments with himself that his phone began to chirp.

“ _DCS, DCS, DCS”_ Karen and Foggy's casual conversation stopped suddenly, and he felt two pairs of sharp, curious eyes on him.

Matt took a steadying breath and answered the phone. "Hello," he answered hoarsely, "This is Matt Murdock."

There was the shuffling of papers, and a slightly nervous heartbeat on the other end of the line. Matt felt his stomach clench painfully. "Mr. Murdock? Hi, this is Cindy Price, from the Queens Department of Child Services. The results of your paternity test were delivered earlier this morning."

Matt nodded, swallowed. Tried to brace himself, though he wasn’t sure if it was for a positive result or a negative one. "And?"

Cindy took a breath. "Congratulations, Mr. Murdock. It's a boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yall!! finals are kicking my butt right now, but i'm fairly happy with this!  
> i promise we'll meet peter next chapter, but i needed matt to have some serious thought about what this situation would mean for him and his lifestyle.  
> so assuming i can get through this first piece, i'd like this to be a series, and i already have some rough outlines for other pieces - peter becoming spiderman, infinty war stuff, etc - if you have anything you'd like to see, drop me a line in the comments or on my writing tumblr rexcorvidae!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi there, folks, is there anything I can help you find?”
> 
> Foggy turned to the salesperson and gave a shark-like grin. Oh no. Run, you poor fool.
> 
> “Yeah, actually. Do you have any gift suggestions for ‘first time meeting your illegitimate son’?”
> 
> Matt closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Dug deep inside of himself for the will to not slap Foggy upside the head in public.

The first thing Cindy did after delivering the news was remind him that, if he so chose, he could surrender his parental rights and turn his son - turn _Peter_ \- over to the state.

And he knew, he _knew_ that she was just doing her job. That she’d probably had dozens of parents take that option as soon as she’d offered it, that she was only trying to make sure neither of them wasted their time.

But the _implication_ behind it - that his reaction to finding out that he did, indeed, have a biological child, would be to immediately sign away any responsibility he had - it made his fists clench, and before she could finish offering him a few days to think it over, he’d snapped, “No, I want to meet with you. As soon as possible.”

And, okay. Spite and frustration were, of the reasons to consider taking in a child, probably some of the worst. And yes, he probably should have taken her up on her offer of a few days to think, because he still hadn’t come to a decision of what to do, but _God_. The idea of giving his kid up to the system was so different now that it wasn’t theoretical - it made guilt sit so heavy in his chest he thought he might choke on it.

So he’d acted on impulse, scheduled a meeting for the next day, and when she’d asked if he wanted to meet Peter while he was there, he hadn’t even processed the question before an affirmative fell from his lips.

Which is how he ended up here. Standing in the children’s toy section of a supermarket, Foggy and Karen at his side, listening to a salesperson approach them.

“Hi there, folks, is there anything I can help you find?”

Foggy turned to the salesperson and gave a shark-like grin. Oh no. Run, you poor fool.

“Yeah, actually. Do you have any gift suggestions for ‘first time meeting your illegitimate son’?”

Matt closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Dug deep inside of himself for the will to not slap Foggy upside the head in public.

The salesperson, understandably, sputtered nervously. Matt felt the distinct urge to apologize to him. “I, uh- well- how old is he?”

“Three.” Matt answered. And that age was something he was trying not to think about, because, _God_ , he really was just a baby, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” The salesperson responded, sounding more confident, “And what kind of things does he like?”

The trio gave him nearly identical eyebrow raises, and approximately 3 seconds to realize why that was a stupid question.

To his credit, the salesperson recovered quickly. “Right, well, uh- stuffed animals are always a safe bet? They’re over here.”

Foggy and Karen gleefully shoved stuffed animals of various sizes, textures, and species in his hands, and Matt tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach. He just- he felt _useless_ , he couldn’t even pick out a stuffed animal for this kid, because he didn’t _know_ him, because he’d spent the first three years of his life thinking some other man was his father, and then he’d _lost_ that man, along with his mother and the rest of his family, and Matt was all he had left, and-

Okay. Breathe, Murdock. It’s just a stuffed animal. That’s all it is.

“What about this one?” Karen pressed another plush into his hands - some four-legged creature with a long, curved neck. “It’s a green dinosaur."

Matt rubbed at the slightly scratchy fabric and frowned. “The texture’s weird.”

From the end of the aisle, Foggy huffed. “You think _all_ textures are weird. Oh, hey. This is cute.”

Foggy brought him what felt like a small bear. The fur was decently soft, but it was dressed in some odd acrylic outfit.

“It’s a little boxer,” Foggy explained, “He’s got the gloves and everything.”

Matt adjusted his grip, and sure enough, he could feel tiny vinyl “gloves” at the end of the bear’s arms.

“It is cute.” He agreed.

He thought, unbidden, of his father, of that warm-safe-loved feeling he’d imagined giving his son. And then he rolled his eyes at himself, because it was stupid, and cheesy, and a stuffed bear wasn’t going to magically make him a capable guardian and he _knew_ that.

But, well. It felt right.

“This one.” He said decisively.

Foggy raised his hands in victory. “I have done it! I’ve found the only Matt Murdock Approved stuffed animal in all of New York State. Ms. Page, I’ll be accepting accolades in either cash or voucher- hey!”

Karen smacked him squarely on the arm.

Matt looked down at the bear in his hands, and found himself smiling a little.

Maybe this would turn out okay.

_

Cindy’s office was fairly similar to the rest of the DCS office - reeking of coffee, paper, and exhaustion, and cramped. Especially cramped with Foggy and Karen flanking him on either side. Cindy gave them an odd look when they walked in, but before she could ask, Foggy shot her a brilliant smile and said “I’m Foggy, and this is Karen - we’re the moral support.”

She still seemed a little doubtful, but when Matt made no objection other than rolling his eyes, she seemed to decide that she had better things to worry about.

“Okay, then. Well, Mr. Murdock, we have some things to go over, but I’m sure you have questions for me, so if you’d like, we can start there.”

Matt nearly interrupted her in his haste to respond. “The mother?” 

There was some shuffling of papers before Cindy responded. “Right. Mary Fitzpatrick - based on birth records, we put the date of conception at about 3 and a half years ago.”

Matt was a little ashamed to admit that it took him a minute to place the name. It had been a party of some Columbia alumnus that Foggy had dragged him to so he wouldn’t be alone. She’d been drinking a whiskey neat, and her laugh had cut through the room, making him turn his head, and he felt it when her gaze fell on him. Her name was Mary, she’d told him, and she’d been brought here (and subsequently abandoned) by a friend who thought she needed to “live a little” since she’d just finished her doctorate.

They’d discussed her work, and his practice. She clearly wasn’t interested in law, but she’d been impressed when he told her about he and Foggy striking out on their own. She told him about how her friends were convinced that three years getting a PhD had made her forget how to have fun. Then she’d leaned in close, a light hand on his arm, and said “Want to help me remember?”

It had just been one night. One _great_ night, but only one. They woke up the next morning and parted ways over coffee, purposefully not exchanging numbers.

In all honesty, Matt hadn’t really thought about it - about _her_ \- much since. It was only supposed to be one night.

“I… I remember her,” he said finally. “She was… she’d just gotten her doctorate. Something with biology, I think?”

Cindy hummed an affirmative. “Genetic engineering. Her second, actually - school records show that she’d completed her first PhD in biochemistry about two years earlier.”

Beside him, Foggy let out a low whistle. “Smart lady.” He said evenly.

“Quite.” Cindy responded. “Around the time you two… met, she started a mid-level research position at Horizon labs, though she was promoted very quickly. Not long after that, she married Richard Parker, and had Peter about 7 months later. She worked at Horizon until around two years ago and then… nothing. She quit very suddenly, pulled Peter out of daycare, moved out of her apartment, and emptied out her bank accounts. Mr. Parker did the same, and they both disappeared from the public record at around the same time. Until, of course, the plane crash.”

Matt took a moment to absorb that. There was nothing _illegal_ about quitting your job and moving very suddenly, but it was certainly… suspicious. Either the two of them decided very suddenly they needed a major life change or they were involved in something dangerous. Something they couldn’t tell the police about.

“That’s… odd.” He managed finally.

Cindy let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, well, that’s not all. About a month ago, they arrived in New York and went to Richard’s brother Ben, and his wife May. They dropped Peter off with his clothes, a few toys, and a folder that contained Peter’s birth certificate, and Mary’s will. According to Peter, they had an “important trip” they needed to take, so Ben and May were going to watch him until they got back. The next day, the Parkers were informed about the plane crash, and they began the process of filing for guardianship over Peter. 3 days after that, both Ben and May Parker were killed in an apparent home invasion, and Peter was found hiding in their closet by police.”

Matt let out a long, slow breath. Jesus _Christ_. This kid was _three_ , and in the span of a week he’d lost both his parents, and the two family members he was told would take care of him. And he wasn’t stupid. Ben and May Parker being killed mere _days_ after Richard and Mary showed up at their door couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone wanted _something_ from Richard and Mary, and Matt had a sinking suspicion that they’d tried to go through Peter to get it.

“ _Fuck_.” Karen said hoarsely. Yeah, that was about right.

“Is… is he okay?” He floundered helplessly.

Cindy gave a considering hum as she flipped through her file. “Physically, he’s fine - he’s on the small side, and he’s somewhat underweight, although birth records show that he was a preemie, so that’s not a huge cause for concern. His current foster parents are working on it, but apparently he’s quite the picky eater. Emotionally he’s… managing. According to his foster parents, he experiences frequent night terrors, and questions about what happened to his parents, or aunt and uncle make him pretty upset, but otherwise he seems to be a fairly cheerful child, if a bit shy. He’s _very_ bright - he knows the alphabet, and can even read and write some simple words on his own.”

Matt felt a swell of pride at that last part, which was ridiculous, he _knew_ , because he’d had nothing to do with it, but it swelled none-the-less. “And how- how did you even know to look for me?”

Cindy sighed. “Richard Parker signed Peter’s birth certificate. However, Mary’s will stated that if something were to happen to her and Richard, _you_ , specifically, were to be contacted as Peter’s biological father.”

Matt was reeling. “Did… did Richard know?”

“Mr. Murdock, Richard was listed as one of her witnesses.”

What the _fuck?_

Cindy seemed to pick up on his confusion, because she continued on. “The police are currently investigating the circumstances surrounding deaths of Richard, Mary, and the Parkers, but they aren’t telling me much. Apparently, before leaving, Richard was involved with some… government agency? And, according to the police, they’ve come to assist in the investigation, so most of the information is pretty “need to know”. But when we contacted them about the contents of the will, they ran a paternity test against DNA from the plane crash, and it corroborated what Mary said in her will.”

“That’s… that doesn't make any sense.” He said helplessly. His mind was racing trying to categorize and make sense the information that had just been dumped on him. Mary and Richard were definitely involved in _something_ , then, and something serious if Richard’s old agency was locking down that information - research, maybe? Or some testimony against Horizon Labs? Or, _fuck_ , it could be totally unrelated, it could be drugs, or gambling, or-

His train of thought was cut off by the warm, comforting weight of Foggy’s hand on his shoulder. Cindy chuckled softly.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I’ve been doing this job for 12 years but this… this whole case is just bizarre. But,” she continued, shaking her head a bit as if to drive the thought away, “In any case, that’s not what we’re here to discuss. Have you thought about how you’d like to move forward?”

Matt took a deep breath. Had he thought about it? That’s all he’d _done_ for the last week, but thinking about it was not the same as coming up with an answer. All those same insecurities were still there, still screaming at him that he couldn’t do this, that he should feel bad for even _considering_ doing this, but there was something new there, too. Something that had flared up when he imagined a kid, _his_ kid, tiny and scared and hiding in a closet with a murderer mere rooms away. A fierce, terrifying drive to _protect_ , to keep safe at all costs.

Cindy mercifully spared him from having to answer. “It’s okay if you aren’t sure right now. It’s a big decision to make. Maybe you’d like to meet him first?”

Numbly, Matt recalled the bear that had been unceremoniously stuffed in his bag before he left. He nodded mutely.

If she was put-off by his lack of reaction, she didn’t show it. “Great!” She chirped, “His foster parents should be on the way, but I’ll go give them a call.”

As soon as she left, Matt’s whole body sagged forward.

“Matt,” Karen asked gently, “You okay?”

At a loss for anything to say, he let out a (very dignified) groan. Karen rubbed his back sympathetically. “That’s fair.”

They sat in companionable silence, Matt only moving to groan more into Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy patted his head soothingly, and made a comment about how of course _his_ kid would be at the center of a criminal conspiracy.

This was a fair comment to make, but still earned him a light punch, because fair didn’t mean it wasn’t _rude_.

They didn’t ask him what he was going to do, or if he’d thought about how he could even _think_ about raising a child while being a vigilante, or any of the other things that were running through his head, and his heart swelled with gratefulness for it. He was reminded, (as he often was), how fucking _lucky_ he was to have Foggy and Karen, and the affection he felt for them in that moment made his chest hurt a bit.

It took Cindy half an hour to return, looking slightly flustered and explaining that she’d gotten caught up reviewing something for another case. “But,” she’d finished brightly, “Peter’s foster parents got here a few minutes ago, and we’ve got him set up in one of our playrooms. If you could, uh, come with me?”

She stood in the doorway awkwardly, and let out a slightly relieved sigh when Foggy offered Matt his arm to guide him. Matt resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Okay then, right this way.”

The hallways were painfully narrow, requiring them to walk nearly single-file, before they stopped in front of a door with a large window beside it. Inside the room, Matt could hear a small, steady heart beat, and his stomach clenched with nervousness. 

“Oh, Matt,” Karen sighed, “He’s precious.”

“His _hair_ ,” Foggy whined, “He’s three, and he has better hair than I will ever have. How is that fair, Murdock?”

He let out a puff of laughter, but his brain caught on what Foggy had said. He was _three_. God, that would take some getting used to.

Cindy opened the door, but it took a gentle nudge from Foggy to get him to move forward, which was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he could fight off 10 guys at once, and he certainly wasn’t intimidated by a toddler.

He entered slowly, tapping his cane on the ground to get a feel for the room. Peter was towards the back, sitting on a foam mat on the floor in front of a low table, humming tunelessly to himself as he colored on a piece of printer paper.

He either hadn’t noticed Matt enter, or wasn’t concerned about it, because he didn’t turn his head until Matt crouched down beside him.

He didn’t say anything, just cocked his head and fixed Matt with a wide-eyed gaze, so Matt swallowed the anxiety in his chest and forced himself to speak.

“Hi there,” he managed weakly. “I’m Matt. Are you Peter?”

There was a nod, but no response, and Peter returned to coloring. Floundering a bit, Matt tried again.

“It’s nice to meet you." He offered, "The two people watching from the window are my friends Karen and Foggy.”

This last bit caught Peter’s attention, and he turned his head to look through the window, before turning back to Matt, eyes wide and curious.

“Foggy? Like the weather?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

This was real then, wasn’t it? Of course, that was the realization he’d been edging around all week, but now the child he had brought into the world was standing in front of him. He had a name, and a voice, and suddenly the thought of doing anything but taking him home _hurt_ more fiercely than anything ever had before. It felt stupid, _ridiculous_ to think that he’d ever thought he could do anything different.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice slightly choked. “Yeah, like the weather.”

“ _Cool_ ,” Peter chirped, completely unaware of the change in Matt’s mood. After a slightly shy pause he added, “Wanna color?”

Matt pursed his lips. He hadn’t thought about this conversation much, mostly because he hadn’t been sure it would even _happen_ , but he supposed sooner was better than later.

“I can’t,” he explained gently. “I’m blind. I can’t see.”

“Oh. Is that why you have the cane? And the glasses?”

A tiny hand reached out to touch his cane, and Matt handed it over easily, privately relieved Peter hadn’t reached for his glasses.

“Yes,” He agreed, “The cane helps me when I walk, and the glasses protect my eyes.”

He still wasn’t sure if, or how, he would explain his mutations to a three year old, but that certainly wasn’t a conversation he was going to have in the social services office, so he pushed the thought aside.

Peter nodded agreeably, and gave his cane back. “Oh. Okay.”

Well, that was… easy. Easier than he expected. “Can you tell me what you’re coloring?”

“Yeah! It’s a dinosaur. A tre-... a tri-... tricerap- tricero-”

Matt winced internally, feeling out of his depth. Should he just say it for him? Wait for him to figure it out on his own? His own memories from this age were hazy, but luckily Peter spared him from having to make a decision.

“Triceratops!” He crowed happily. “Mommy taught me _all_ about dinosaurs.”

“Wow,” Matt responded, relieved, “You must be really smart, then. What color is it?”

“Green,” Peter chirped, “His name’s Apple, and he’s gonna keep me safe.”

All at once, Matt went tense. He tried to keep his voice light as he asked, “Keep you safe from what, Peter?”

Peter’s coloring slowed. He raised his tiny shoulders in a shrug, and kept his gaze fixed firmly on the paper, but his heartbeat had picked up slightly from fear. Matt wanted _badly_ to push the topic - that new, fierce thing inside of him screaming at the thought of Peter, of his _son_ , being in danger, but he forced it down.

He remembered what Cindy said, about how Peter would get upset and shut down when people asked questions that got too close to what happened to his parents, or his aunt and uncle. And he knew, he _knew_ that there was something wrong there, something unhealthy, but he’d _just met_ the kid, and he really didn’t want making him cry to be the impression he left.

“I, uh, I have something for you.” He said to change the subject. He reached into his bag, and held out the bear like a peace offering. There was a moment where nothing happened, and he wondered if Peter hated it, or if it was actually a trigger for some horrible memory that would make him burst out into tears, when he found himself with a three year old wrapped around his torso

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Peter exclaimed happily.

A little thrown by the sudden shift in mood, Matt carefully brought his arms around Peter to return the hug. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

God, he was so _tiny_. Cindy had said he was small for his age, underweight, but it was different to _feel_ it. He was so fragile, so _breakable_ , and Matt was being torn in half between the urge to get as far away as he could before _he_ broke him, and keep him as close as possible to make sure nobody else could. He rested his chin carefully on top of Peter’s head, where his mess of curls tickled the underside of his neck. 

Peter pulled away sooner than Matt would have liked, cheerfully observing his new prize. “What’s his name?”

Matt cocked his head. “Well- Whatever you want to name him, I guess?”

Peter shook his head matter-of-factly. “Nuh-uh. What’s his _name_? You gave him to me, so he already has a name. Like LP!”

Matt tried to hide his bewilderment. “LP?”

“My bunny,” Peter explained, “That’s what I call her, but that’s only ‘cause Mommy gave her to me, and she said her real name was Lep- Leporid-” Peter stopped, and huffed, frustrated.

Matt racked his brain for a moment, then offered cautiously, “Leporidae?”

Peter brightened. “Uh-huh! ‘Cause she’s a bunny! So, what’s his real name?” He asked again, holding the bear in Matt’s direction.

He blinked, tried to sort out that logic, before remembering that Peter was three, and logic probably wasn’t a primary concern for him. “It’s, uh- his name is Jack,” He answered without thinking. And then, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice, “He’ll keep you safe too, okay?”

Peter worried at his lip, solemn, for a moment, before nodding and squeezing the bear close. “Okay.” He agreed softly.

Matt wanted badly to say something else, to reassure him, because the thought of his kid being so scared made something in his chest ache, but before he could the door opened again.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Cindy said gently, “But the Robertsons need to get one of their other kids to soccer practice.”

Matt opened his mouth to argue, more out of instinct than anything else, but before he could Peter huffed a little and stood up, taking his coloring sheet with him. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “Bye-bye, Matt. Thank you for Jack!”

He started towards the door, and Matt fought the urge to reach out and grab him back. “Bye-bye, Peter,” He echoed numbly. “I’ll see you soon.”

This made Peter turn. “Really?” He sounded so eager, so excited, and it made his father’s heart swell with sudden, overwhelming affection.

“Yeah,” Matt nodded, “I promise.”

Peter gave a delighted noise, and allowed himself to be led away by his social worker. Matt followed them out, almost stumbling in shock. Foggy caught him by the shoulders when he emerged, but Matt didn’t speak for a while, tracking Peter’s steady heartbeat as it left the office and started down the stairs.

“Matt? Are you okay?”

He took a moment to consider the question - he didn’t _know_. He was- overwhelmed, and terrified, and unsure, but every time he focused on those feelings, he remembered the warmth of Peter’s tiny arms around his neck, the unadulterated joy when Matt promised to see him again.

“Yeah,” he said finally, “I’m alright.”

For the first time in ages, it wasn’t a lie.

Cindy returned after escorting Peter’s foster family out, and brought them back to her office.

“Well, Mr. Murdock? Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

Matt swallowed. Braced himself. “He’s my son. I- He needs to be with me. Just tell me what I have to do.”

The social worker’s voice was kept carefully even, but her heartbeat seemed pleased. “Well, then. Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, this got long! i considered splitting this into two chapters, but i promised you folks baby peter in this chapter, and i wanted to deliver.
> 
> wanted to say that the response i've gotten from this fic has absolutely blown me away - i wrote the first chapter of this after i lost a one-shot i wrote about kid!peter and dad!matt, and uploaded it on impulse more than anything else. your comments and kudos absolutely make my day, and they encourage me to keep writing, so please continue!!! <3
> 
> if you ever want to come chat about devil!dad, iron!dad, or just loving peter parker in general, come hit me up at rexcorvidae on tumblr!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Murdock, I understand your concerns, but the Robertsons have the means, and they have a good history with the children they foster. I assure you that Peter is in good hands.”
> 
> He appreciated that reassurance. It still didn’t keep him from ducking out of his meeting with Cindy early enough to track the Robertsons back to their house.
> 
> So he was a paranoid asshole. That wasn’t _news._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back? back again?
> 
> sorry for the delay!! winter break has had me in a funk, and this chapter was surprisingly hard to get out. i'll be returning to school soon, so hopefully being on a regular schedule again will improve the time between updates
> 
> thank you all so much for your patience, and your kudos/comments!!! they really make my day, and they really helped me push through this chapter.

Matt had always considered himself a pretty patient person. His profession required it - both of them. He could slog through boxes upon boxes of paperwork to find the one record that would win their case. He could sit crouched on top of a warehouse for hours waiting for his mark to show up.

All of that patience fled when it came to dealing with child services.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. It was just how the system worked. Cindy, especially, was efficient and upfront with him. When he’d begun the process of filing for custody of Peter, she sat forward at her desk and spoke to him frankly.

“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Murdock. Being Peter’s biological father, the law is on your side, but obviously, we’re going to be facing some roadblocks."

Before Matt could open his mouth to respond, Foggy sat up in his seat, posture tense, voice deceptively even. “Sorry- what roadblocks, exactly? Mr. Murdock is financially stable, has no criminal record, has no history of drug or alcohol abuse, so I’m not entirely sure what you’re referring to.”

Matt bit back a smirk. He’d never been good at letting people stand up for him. It always felt like weakness - an admission of defeat. But Foggy, as he tended to be when it came to Matt’s anxieties over personal relationships of _any_ kind, was the exception.

And he had to admit, it was always entertaining to listen to Foggy while he was in Lawyer Mode, especially when he didn’t have to focus on adding to the case himself.

Cindy gave a sigh. “I’m referring to Mr. Murdock’s disability. Now-”

“That’s interesting,” Foggy interrupted, “because there’s a long-standing precedent of blind people raising children entirely on their own, so it seems that basing your judgment of Mr. Murdock’s parenting ability on his disability would be discrimination.”

To the surprise of both the lawyers in the room, Cindy smiled. “My little sister has been blind since birth, Mr. Nelson. She has 2 children, and she and her wife are the best parents I’ve ever seen.” Her tone turned slightly bitter “But that hasn’t stopped their neighbors from calling CPS for a wellness check every week. Mr. Murdock, I know that being blind doesn’t make someone an unfit parent. But unfortunately, our system doesn’t. Not entirely, anyway. I just want you to be prepared for the issues that might come up.”

Her heart stayed steady and even, and Matt gave her a small but genuine smile.

“I appreciate that. So,” He continued, taking a breath, “Where do we start?”

Matt had been prepared to fight tooth and nail, to defend himself and his fitness, to do anything to get his kid with him.

He just hadn’t been expecting the _waiting_. After his first visit with Peter, he’d sat patiently in Cindy’s office while she hunted around the office for braille copies of the forms he needed to fill out, and grit his teeth and allowed Foggy to guide his hand to where he needed to sign. She’d gathered them up and sent them off with the promise that he would hear back from her within two weeks.

Guilt and frustration bubbled up again, at the thought that he’d have to leave his kid with strangers for longer than he already had.

Halfway out the door, he spoke up. “Can I- I’d like to see him again. Peter. Get to know him more. Talk to him about what’s happening.”

Cindy hummed, considering. “I’ll talk to the Robertsons. They’ve got a few other foster kids, so we normally try to schedule anything with their kids around the same time, but I think that should be possible. I will warn you, though, that from what we can tell, Peter believes that Richard Parker is his father. In my experience, children his age… they can have a hard time fully understanding things like this.”

He nodded, solemn. “I know, I just… I want him to know what’s going on.”

That had been the worst part of his experience with social services, after all. Being told to pack his bags and get into his social worker’s car, confused and guilty and, after a while, angry. At himself, at the foster family that had decided he was too much to handle, at the system who put him there. In his worst moments, at his father for dying, and at God for taking him away.

The thought of Peter, of _his kid_ , feeling any fraction of that anguish made him sick to his stomach.

“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll give the Robertsons a call and let you know when they can come in.”

The Robertsons were another source of stress. About three days later he was sitting cross-legged on the foam mats of the DCS playroom, listening to Peter dig determinedly through the plastic tub of crayons for the proper shade of blue to color his rocket ship, that anxiety made itself known.

“So, Peter, do you… like living with the Robertsons?”

Peter’s shrugged, humming tunelessly to himself. “They’re nice. There’s lots of people there, though. But they have a doggy! She barks sometimes, but she’s a good girl.” He paused, having apparently found the crayon he was looking for, “I don’t like their food, though.”

Matt gave him a smile. “Yeah? What kind of foods do you like?”

“Fruits!” Peter chirped, “Apples an’ grapes an’ strawberries. They have fruit gummies and pretzels, but I can’t eat those.”

Matt cocked his head and leaned forward a bit. “Why not?”

“Mommy said so. They’re not safe. Fruits are safe.”

Peter was still coloring his rocketship, completely unaware of worry creasing his father’s face.

“Why aren’t those foods safe, Pete?”

The scratch of wax on paper stopped, and he heard Peter start to worry at the inside of his cheek. “I dunno. ‘S what Mommy said. Do you like doggies?”

It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Matt hardly noticed it, too focused on the way the boy’s heart fluttered under his words. Peter was lying.

“I- yeah,” He answered finally. “Did- did your Mom ever talk about _why_ you shouldn’t eat those things?”

The coloring sheet had been completely abandoned, and Peter was staring determinedly at his lap, picking at the wrapper on the crayon.

“Mrs. Robertson takes them out of the bag, but Mommy said that I’m not supposed to eat anything a stranger gives me unless I open it up by myself or I watch them make it.” His voice was quiet, and he was starting to curl in on himself, tiny heart thumping with anxiety. “‘Else they might put something bad in it. ‘Cause-”

His voice dropped so it was nearly a whisper, and he chewed at his thumbnail worriedly “-’Cause of the bad guys.”

Matt frantically tried to sort through what Peter just said - it was possible, he supposed, that Mary was just… overprotective. But _still_ , it was one thing to tell your kid not to take food from strangers, it was another to tell him he needed to be worried about “bad guys” _poisoning_ him. Worry and a little anger pooled in his stomach as he wondered, not for the first time since this ordeal had started, what the _hell_ Mary and Richard had gotten themselves into. He had another hundred questions on the tip of his tongue, but abruptly, Peter rose from the table and sat down in front of a small pile of blocks.

“I don’t wanna talk about that anymore. Do you have a doggy?”

Evidently, the conversation was over

-

Mrs. Robertson was polite, if a bit cool towards him. Doubt came off of her in waves when Cindy explained that he would be filing for sole custody of Peter, but she was at least tactful enough not to voice it.

Less comforting was the number of children in the house. “Four,” Peter had chirped, “Plus me. Ryan and Jason say I’m too little to play with them, but Jenna’s in high school, and she does puzzles with me sometimes.”

“That sounds fun,” Matt responded. “What about the other person?”

Peter shrugged. “Tyler. He’s not home a lot, and he usually stays in his room if he is. Sometimes he and Mr. Robertson yell at each other.”

“Yeah? Do the Robertsons ever yell at you?”

“Not really. Mrs. Robertson gets mad sometimes when I don’t eat my dinner, but she doesn’t yell, she just… sounds mad.”

He’d asked Cindy about it, and she’d bristled slightly, tone placating but defensive.

“Mr. Murdock, I understand your concerns, but the Robertsons have the means, and they have a good history with the children they foster. I assure you that Peter is in good hands.”

He appreciated that reassurance. It still didn’t keep him from ducking out of his meeting with Cindy early enough to track the Robertsons back to their house.

So he was a paranoid asshole. That wasn’t _news_.

Still, a night spent crouched in the bushes of a fairly nice subdivision listening carefully for any sign of something wrong left him with nothing but a slightly stiff back and a little more peace of mind.

From what he could tell, Cindy was right. The Robertsons were, if a little cold, certainly capable caretakers. The oldest boy Peter mentioned did, indeed, come home around midnight reeking of pot and anger, but even that seemed limited to yelling matches with his foster parents when he got in for the night. And, well, Matt was hardly one to make judgments about teenage rage.

He still didn’t like it - the same ugly, possessive part of him that reared up whenever Peter referred to Richard as _daddy_ made him toss and turn restlessly when he remembered that his kid was so far away from him - but some of his anxiety over the situation was soothed.

Two weeks had passed, and while he scheduled hearings and filled out more forms, he still hadn’t figured out a way to talk to Peter about moving in with him. The kid seemed to like him, but their visits were short, and it always seemed like just when Peter was really starting to relax and open up enough for Matt to broach the subject, Cindy was poking her head in to say that the Robertsons needed to leave.

So, no. He didn’t like that his kid was living with strangers. But the process was taking a long time, and it comforted him a little to know he had a stable place to stay while they figured it all out.

He believed that until his phone started chirping at 11 pm, _Cindy DCS, Cindy DCS, Cindy DCS._

A pit formed in his stomach, as he frantically tried to come up with a good reason for her to call him this late.

“Hello?”

Cindy paused for a second, surprised. “Oh, hello, Mr. Murdock. I hope I didn’t wake you, I was just going to leave a message.”

“Late night,” Matt responded distractedly, “What’s going on?”

Cindy took a breath, and Matt focused on her heartbeat - fast and anxious. “Mr. Murdock, I’m calling to inform you that there was an… incident at Peter’s foster home this evening. The police were called, and Peter’s at the hospital with me right now. He’s going to be fine-” She rushed to add, as Matt felt panic crawl up his throat, “But he did sustain some injuries, and he’s being removed from the home. Since you’re his biological parent and filing for custody, I felt that you should be informed-”

“Yeah,” Matt interrupted, breathless, “Yeah I- thank you, for calling me. What hospital are you at? I’ll head over right away.”

“Oh, Mr. Murdock, that’s really not necessary, I just wanted to update you on-”

“Listen, I-” He cut himself off, took a shaky breath to calm down. “He’s my kid. If he’s been injured, I want to see him. Just- please.”

Cindy let out a sigh, and Matt felt a brief stab of guilt - it was late, and she was probably exhausted, and ready to go home. It wasn’t enough to make him change his mind, though.

“Metro-General.” She said finally. “We’ll be here for about an hour while we wait for X-Rays on his arm to come back.”

By the time she’d finished talking, he’d grabbed his coat and cane and was halfway out the door. “I’m on my way.”

X-Rays. Someone had _broken_ his kid’s fucking arm. Rage flooded his chest, fierce and overwhelming, but he pushed it aside. For once, the drive to punish, to make things _right_ , was outweighed by something new, and terrifying, but also… warm. The urge to protect.

There would be time for anger later. For now, he would make sure his kid was safe.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter lengths? i don't know her.
> 
> not totally thrilled with how this came out, but now that it is, i'm hoping the rest of the fic will come a little easier. 
> 
> i thrive off of kudos/comments!! and if you had any ideas for one/two-shot prompts ft. devil dad (or iron dad, give peter parker all the father figures pls), leave them for me in the comments, or send me an ask at my writing tumblr rexcorvidae. i can't promise to get to all of them, but i'll do my best!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well,” He began, “Because I- I’m your dad, Peter.”
> 
> He’d thought about how this conversation would go several times - imagined Peter being angry, or crying, or demanding to see his _real_ daddy again - but once again, Peter surprised him.
> 
> “No, you’re not.”

The barrage of smells and sounds that greeted Matt at Metro General was more bearable when he was walking in under his own power, if only slightly. But anxiety distracted him, drowning out the din as he desperately sought out the heartbeat, he’d come to memorize over the last few weeks. He took a shaky breath and tried to remind himself that Peter was _fine_ \- he had a broken arm, and he was probably exhausted, and scared, but - but he was _fine_. He would be fine.

He allowed the nurse at the front desk to take his arm and lead him to the elevator and through hallways, barely aware of his surroundings as he assessed Peter’s heartbeat. Elevated, slightly, and his breathing was - off. There was the tell-tale shifting of a broken bone, and then a little yelp of pain that made him want to throw off the nurse’s arm and sprint into the room, secret identity be _damned_.

He heard Cindy in there with him, soothing him and reminding him gently not to move, and felt a fresh surge of rage surge up in him.

The nurse paused to knock on the door, and he took the moment to breathe. Push down the horror and anger at the thought of someone hurting _his_ kid, push down the urge to demand to know who did this and make them _pay_ , because he needed to be the adult right now. He needed to be calm, and secure, and comforting, because he remembered being small and thinking every negative emotion an adult had was _his_ fault, and Peter had been scared enough tonight.

Cindy opened the door with a kind of tired resignation.

“Mr. Murdock, come in. Peter? Your- Uh, Matt’s here.”

Peter was always excited to see him, during their DCS visits. Always delighted, and a little surprised, even though Matt told him at the end of every visit, that he’d see him again soon. The kind of surprised that made Matt think he hadn’t _really_ been expecting him to show up again, which was equal parts endearing and incredibly sad.

Tonight, though, Peter didn’t greet him excitedly. Barely even looked up from where he was sitting on an examination table, worrying at his bottom lip and coloring half-heartedly on a print-out on the tray in front of him. Beneath the usual smell of antiseptic was dried saline, and blood. Rage burned hot in his stomach again, and he pushed it down, forcing his face into what he hoped was a comforting smile.

“Hey, Pete. How are you feeling, kiddo?”

The boy gave a half-hearted shrug, and mumbled, “‘M fine,” never looking up at him.

“I… I heard you hurt your arm.” He prompted gently.

Peter didn’t respond, just shrugged again. Even when Cindy reminded him gently to “use his words”, he only gave a quiet “Yeah,” before falling into silence again. Cindy sighed, and put a hand on his arm.

“Can I talk to you outside?”

He hesitated, reluctant to leave Peter by himself, but nodded. Clearly Peter wasn’t eager to give an account of what happened, and besides, they’d only be right outside the door.

“Peter?” Cindy called, “Me and Matt are going to talk outside for a second, okay? Just yell if you need us, we’ll be right outside the door.”

Peter tensed for a second, like he wanted to argue, but before Matt could react he nodded his assent. “‘Kay.”

He allowed Cindy to lead him out into the hall, closing the door softly behind them, and Matt could feel some of his control slipping now that Peter couldn’t see him.

“What happened?” He asked, steel in his voice.

Cindy gave a tired sigh, and rubbed her eyes. A bit of guilt spiked again - it was nearly 11:30 now, and she was clearly exhausted - but it was drowned out by the way Peter’s heart fluttered in pain when he moved the wrong way.

“Mr. Robertson was laid off from his job today. I mentioned before that Peter is a picky eater? Well, he refused to eat his dinner tonight, and Mr. Robertson felt that the best way to deal with that was to send him to bed without it. After the rest children were sent to bed, he got drunk. He caught Peter sneaking into the kitchen to get something to eat, and he… he grabbed Peter’s arm, and hit him across the face.” Cindy smelled like guilt, and anger, and maybe that should have been comforting - to know that she wasn’t the type of case worker to brush it off, or to insist that there were “two sides to every story” - but it did little to calm the devil slamming against his ribs, screaming for _vengeance, penance_.

Before he could form a response, Cindy pressed on. “Peter ran from him, and tripped. He’s got a spiral fracture in his left arm, a broken nose, and a minor sprain in his right ankle. The oldest child in the home, Tyler, came home late and overheard the Roberson’s arguing over whether or not to take Peter to the hospital, and called his case worker, who then called the police. Mr. Robertson has been taken into custody, and the other children have been removed from the home. Once we finish up here, I’ll be taking Peter to-”

Matt found his voice again, cutting her off fiercely. “You’re not taking him anywhere. He’s coming home with me.”

She raised her hands placatingly. “ Now, Mr. Murdock, I understand that you’re upset, but-”

And Matt knew, he _knew_ , that he should try to be civil. Cindy had been _good_ , patient and upfront with him, clearly dedicated to Peter’s case, and pissing her off now was probably not a good idea. But he had trusted her, trusted the _system_ , like a fucking idiot, trusted them not to hurt his kid like they had hurt him, and now Peter was in a fucking _hospital_.

“No, you don’t." He snapped, " _I_ am Peter’s biological father. All my background checks have come back clean, I have a stable income, and a place to live. The _only_ reason he isn’t with me already is because I’m blind. You know it, and I know it.”

“Mr. Murdock, I won’t pretend that this process isn’t flawed, but-”

“It’s _beyond_ flawed. It’s judged me less fit to take care of my own child than a man who thinks that losing his job makes it acceptable to hit a toddler, and I’m done playing along with it. I don’t care what you have to do, but unless you want your office on the news facing a suit for discrimination and child endangerment, Peter is leaving this hospital with me, tonight.”

Cindy tensed, frustration and anger coming off her in waves, and Matt felt guilty, because she was doing her best, he knew. But the thought of sending Peter off to live with strangers, _again_ , made him sick to his stomach. “I need to make a call,” she bit out. “Why don’t you go wait with your son.”

Translated, _I can’t be around you without wanting to punch you right now, but I’m a professional, so please leave_. He gave her a terse nod, and reentered the room as she pulled out her phone.

Peter looked up when he entered, but didn’t say anything. Just watched him carefully, tracking his movements, and it occurred to Matt why his heart-rate was elevated. He was scared. Not of _Matt_ , necessarily, but the whole situation.

Not understanding what he had done, or where he was going to live now, or what was going to happen to him - it was a fear Matt knew intimately, a fear he’d been trying to _prevent_. Guilt and failure pressed down on his chest, because despite his efforts, here they were.

Outside, Cindy was talking in a low, tense voice to her supervisor, who was, understandably, not thrilled about being woken up in the middle of the night, and the gravity of this situation hit him. Chances were good that, within the next few hours, he’d be taking Peter home with him - a discussion, he realized, he probably should have had with his kid before now.

“Peter? I need to ask you something really important. Is that okay?”

The boy nodded, and then, remembering Cindy’s earlier reminder, added softly, “Uh-huh.”

Matt swallowed down the anxiety crawling up his throat, and pushed on. “How would you feel about maybe… coming to live with me?”

And then, to his Matt’s utter horror, Peter’s bottom lip started trembling, and his eyes filled with tears. He curled in on himself as much as he could with one leg wrapped in sports bandages and stared down at his lap. “‘Cause- ‘Cause I was bad?”

Matt blinked at him, shocked. “What? What are you talking about, Peter?”

Peter sniffed, tears falling into his lap, and a kind of terrible helplessness overwhelmed Matt as he tried to figure out what to do, how to _fix_ this. “I- I broke the rules,” Peter explained tearfully, “I made Mr. Robertson mad, and that’s why he- why he hurt my nose.”

The blind man took a deep, shaky breath, and crossed the room to crouch in front of the examination table, carefully taking Peter’s uninjured hand into both of his own, marveling slightly at how _small_ it was, how fragile it felt in his hands. He very carefully kept his tone even to mask the rage underneath it. “Peter?” He started softly, “I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

Peter nodded again, but tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for Matt’s anger. That alone made his father want to find the police station Robertson was holed up in and make him regret ever laying a hand on his son, but he forced the feeling down for the time being. “Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

_That_ made Peter look up at him, eyes still tearful but slightly surprised. “But-”

“No,” his father interrupted, gently but firmly. “It is never, _never_ okay for anyone to hurt you like that. No matter what. You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you understand?”

Peter gave a tentative nod. “I understand.” He echoed dutifully. His heart fluttered, though - not quite a lie, but close, like he didn’t believe what he was saying. Something like desperation welled up inside of Matt at the sound of it, and it made him want to repeat the message until it sunk in, because he _needed_ Peter to believe him. He needed to know that he hadn’t already fucked this kid up, made him believe that he deserved to get hurt just like Matt had when _his_ foster homes knocked him around.

_He’s three years old_ he reminded himself, taking a deep, shaky breath. _We have time_. The thought strengthened his resolve. He would _make sure_ they had time. Confidence bolstered, he pressed on.

“As for why I asked you if you’d like to come live with me - I asked because- well- because I care about you a lot, and I think you should be with me.”

Peter cocked his head, curls brushing the edge of his thin pajama top. He still seemed a little unsure but asked curiously. “How come?”

Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well,” He began, “Because I- I’m your dad, Peter.”

He’d thought about how this conversation would go several times - imagined Peter being angry, or crying, or demanding to see his _real_ daddy again - but once again, Peter surprised him.

“No, you’re not.”

It came out so matter-of-fact that it stung a little, even though his tone was almost gentle in its earnestness, like he was the one explaining it to Matt. “My daddy has lighter hair than you, and his glasses are square and clear with gold on the outside.”

Matt sighed, fumbling for a way to explain a situation he’d barely finished processing himself. “He… he was your dad too.” The admission tasted bitter in his mouth, and he kind of hated himself for resenting a dead man so much. “But I- I’m _related_ to you, okay? Your other dad- he loved you too, a lot, but he- he wasn’t related to you.”

Peter shrank a little, before responding, quieter than before. “Daddy fell with Mommy on the plane. Uncle Ben told me.”

Matt closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Cindy had said that children Peter’s age struggled to understand things like this, but frustration welled up in him all the same.

“I _know_ , Peter.” It came out harsher than intended, and he didn’t miss the way Peter flinched a little. Guilt flooded him, suffocating and overwhelming, and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste iron.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “Peter we’re- we’re family, okay? And I really care about you, and I’d like to take care of you. Would you be alright with that?”

“We’re _family_?” He asked hesitantly. “So, you knew my mommy and daddy?”

Matt bit back a grimace. “Well-” _I knew your mother for about 16 hours and then I didn’t think of her again for three years_ “I never met your dad, but I met your mom once. She was… she was a really smart lady.”

“The _smartest_.” Peter insisted. He lapsed into silence, and Matt began to flounder, wondering if he’d simply _forgotten_ Matt’s original question, or if this was his way of refusing. Before he could panic too much, Peter turned to look at him.

“Ms. Price said she was gonna take me back to the group home until they could find me another family,” He admitted quietly, “I could stay with you instead?”

He sounded so- so _hopeful_ , little heart thudding with nervousness, and it made Matt want to pull him close and apologize and keep him _safe,_ with an intensity that alarmed him.

He swallowed it down and pretended that his voice wasn’t watery when he responded. “Yeah, kiddo. I’d really, really like that.”

Peter smiled, small and still a little unsure, and when Matt smiled back, it didn’t feel forced. “Okay.”

And just like that, it seemed, the conversation was over. Peter picked up his forgotten crayon and continued coloring, unaware or unconcerned that Matt could feel his world shifting. This was _real_. Peter wanted to live with him - maybe only as a better alternative to a crowded group home, but _still_. He realized, only now, that he’d spent the entire conversation expecting Peter to refuse. To look at Matt and just _know_ that he was unprepared and undeserving.

But of course, that was ridiculous. Peter just- just _trusted_ him, without doubt or hesitation, to take care of him, and that faith left him feeling overjoyed and terrified in equal measure. It was more than a little jarring, but Matt felt overwhelmed with determination to _earn_ that trust.

He took a deep breath and allowed himself to be buoyed by his son’s pleased heartbeat. Peter scooted over on the examination table, a little awkwardly due to his splinted ankle, and patted the spot next to him. “If you want, I can tell you about my picture.”

The smile came easier this time, warm fondness filled his chest. “Sure, Pete. I’d love that.”

_

By the time Cindy got off the phone with her supervisor, the doctor had returned with Peter’s x-rays, applied a local anesthetic, and reset his nose. The exhaustion of the night was clearly starting to wear on the kid, who had abandoned his coloring sheet to doze against Matt’s side as they waited for a nurse to arrive to cast Peter’s left arm, Jack tucked securely under the right. (LP, Peter explained to him, had to stay in his backpack, since “his nose got her all bloody”, requiring Matt to take several deep breaths before he could calmly promise that they would wash her once they got back to his apartment.)

Cindy was stressed, smelling like irritation and exhaustion, and she set a laptop on the tray in front of Matt with no preamble.

“Emergency guardianship. My supervisor and I will be visiting for a home inspection tomorrow at noon, which you both need to be present for. If the inspection goes well, you’ll be awarded temporary guardianship until your hearing, at which point, if the judge rules in your favor, permanent custody will be awarded. I _obviously_ couldn’t get the physical forms, but the head nurse assured me this has a text-to-speech function.” She paused, and glanced at Peter to check if he was fully asleep, before she bit out harshly, “Happy?”

He sighed and gave her what he hoped was a sufficiently genuine look. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Well my supervisor _isn’t_ happy. Mr. Murdock, You have a right to be upset about what happened tonight, and frustrated with this whole process, but the solution isn’t to try to get around the system entirely.”

Matt rubbed a spot between his eyes, where a sharp headache was beginning to form.

“Cindy, I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position. Really, I am. But my _job_ is to keep Peter safe, and obviously child services wasn’t doing that, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place. “

Cindy sighed, and sat down heavily in a chair across from him. “I get that. But my supervisor has been on top of me about your fitness as it is. He’s not happy about having his hand forced, and full disclosure? I have a feeling he’ll make that known during the home inspection tomorrow. I just… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Matt nodded solemnly. “I understand. But I need to do this.”

Cindy sighed again, but didn’t argue again, leaning over him to open the laptop and set up the form. The robotic voice of the text-to-speech processor woke up Peter, who watched the process curiously, before asking Matt if he could show him “how to make the computer talk”. He delightedly pressed the buttons Matt directed him to, occasionally reading out words he recognized on the form, unaware of Matt’s hands shaking as he signed his name on forms that would change both of their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer wait than I would have liked, but hopefully the extra chapter will make up for it! thank you so much for all your comments - y'all make my day, seriously.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Matt, you can’t- you can’t do this. You can’t drag a _child_ into-“
> 
> “I’ll figure it out-”
> 
> “Yeah? When? Before or after your son finds you bleeding out on the living room floor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO updates? in ONE day? it's more likely than you think  
> matt and claire have a Talk. claire has some pretty valid takes.

As terrified as he’d been when Cindy first called him, the night ended rather anti-climatically. Peter’s arm was set in a red cast (“like a firetruck”, he’d insisted when asked what color he’d like), which Matt, Cindy, and his nurse all dutifully signed. Matt was given strict instructions to keep him off his ankle for at least a week, just to be safe.

For a toddler, Peter had been remarkably patient throughout the whole ordeal, but it was clear that said patience was running thin as the night wore on. He fidgeted uncomfortably on the examination table, and the nurse had barely left the room to grab the discharge forms when Matt felt Peter’s big eyes settle on him.

“Are we gonna go soon?” There was the edge of a whine in his tone, and Matt rubbed his back sympathetically.

“Soon,” he promised, “Really soon. Once the nurse comes back with your forms then we can go, okay?”

Peter gave a tired huff but muttered “Okay” and tugged his bear a little closer.

“So, Peter,” Cindy began gently, “Have you and Matt talked about what’s going to happen next?”

She got a nod in return. “Uh-huh. He’s my family, so I’m gonna go live with him now.”

She hesitated before responding. “Well… yeah. You’re going to stay with him tonight, and then one of my friends and I are gonna come by tomorrow and make sure everything’s okay there. And if it is then you’re gonna stay with Matt for a while. Are you alright with that?”

Peter didn’t seem to understand the gravity of that question, but, Matt reasoned, he was only three, and half-asleep. He didn’t even stop to think about it, just gave another nod.

“Yeah-huh. Matt’s nice, plus he said he doesn’t have a dog, and Roxy’s barking scared me sometimes. I wanna stay at his house now.” There was that trust again, sure and unwavering, and it wasn’t any less terrifying to hear a second time. He ran a shaky hand over Peter’s head, smoothing back his curls, and melted a little when Peter leaned tiredly into the touch. “Can we go home now?”

_Home_. Matt’s throat started to ache.

“Almost, buddy.” He promised. “Almost.”

_

Peter wanted precisely nothing to do with the wheelchair. In all fairness, Matt wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting the kid to have, but outright suspicion was definitely not it.

“Why can’t you just carry me?” Peter asked him pitifully, one tiny hand clinging to the edge of his coat.

Matt felt his heart break a little and wondered distantly when he’d become this _soft_. “It’s the rules,” He explained gently, “It’s just to keep you safe.”

“But it’s _not_ safe,” Peter insisted, “It’ll fall over!”

Cindy joined them at the examination table, crouching slightly to be at eye-level. “It’s not going to fall, Peter. I promise.” She soothed, “We’re going to be right there with you the whole time.”

“Yes it _is_!” Peter snapped, voice watery and tired. Matt bit the inside of his cheek. He _really_ hadn’t spent much time with children, especially not children this _young,_ and he felt more than a little out of his depth, but God, he had to do _something_.

“Do you, uh…” He began awkwardly, “Do you want me to hold your hand on the way out?”

Peter considered him warily. “So you can catch me if it tips over?”

“It’s not going to tip over,” He reminded gently, “But… yes.”

Peter remained quiet for a few seconds, still unsure, but comforted. Finally, he nodded.

“Fine. But you have to hold my hand the _whole_ time.”

Matt bit back a sigh of relief. “Deal.”

Matt shed his own coat and bundled it as tightly as he could around Peter – it was chilly outside, and Peter was still in the thin pajama set he’d been brought in wearing, with dried blood down the front – before depositing him gently into the chair and slinging the backpack that had been hastily filled with Peter’s things at the Robertsons’ over his shoulder. Peter had Jack safely under his casted arm, and gripped Matt’s free hand in a fiercely before he nervously allowed the nurse to start pushing him.

In his own defense, Matt was distracted. The small portion of his focus that wasn’t totally keyed in on Peter – listening for signs of anxiety, or pain, to the reassuring sound of his heart – was frantically making lists of the things that needed to get done for his apartment “toddler-friendly” in the next 10 hours. But he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings the way he usually did, and he didn’t notice the sound of a very familiar heartbeat approaching until it was right behind him.

“Matt?” Claire asked, “What are you…”

She trailed off, and Matt heard her hair rasp against her shoulder as her gaze traveled from Matt to the child holding his hand in a death grip, who gave her a curious look in return. “Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Peter.” The child in question responded, “Who’re you?”

“Claire. I’m a friend of Matt’s.” She turned back to Matt and fixed him with an expectant look. “How do you two know each other?”

He tried to angle himself away from Peter, who was watching the exchange with some curiosity, so he wouldn’t see his grimace. “Peter is my…” He cut himself off, deciding that he wasn’t interested in a rehashing of his earlier failure to explain paternity in the middle of the Metro General waiting room. “He’s going to be staying with me from now on.”

Claire’s heartbeat spiked with surprise, and something like anger, or disapproval that made shame and indignation churn unpleasantly in his gut. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Peter tugged Matt’s arm closer to him, so he could rest his head against it. “Can we go now? ‘M tired.”

Claire let out a huff of air, and turned back to Peter, crouching a bit and softening her tone. “Yeah, I bet, kiddo. It’s pretty late.”

He nodded sleepily back to her, wild curls brushing against the collar of Matt’s coat.

“Mm-hmm.”

Her mouth twisted into a fond, half-smile, before looking back up at Matt. “It’s gonna be a long wait for a cab, this time of night. Evans,” She said, standing up and turning to their nurse, “Your break’s coming up, right? Head on, my shift just ended. I’m gonna drive these guys home.”

Evans either didn’t notice the punishing grip Claire had on Matt’s arm to prevent escape, or she was too tired to care, because she simply gave a grateful nod and walked away. 

She turned to look at him again, and he could feel the weight of her gaze. “Well?” She said expectantly, “Come on, then. My car’s outside.”

-

The wheelchair was abandoned at the entrance of the waiting room, much to Peter’s relief. Matt kept him supported against his chest with one arm and allowed Claire to take the other as she led them through the parking lot.

Between being free of the much-hated wheelchair, the quiet, and the warmth of the huge coat wrapped around him, Peter was out-cold against Matt’s shoulder by the time they were half-way to Claire’s car. He woke when Matt deposited him in the backseat, just long enough to clumsily attempt to help Matt buckle his seat belt and shove Jack between his head and the door as a makeshift pillow, before promptly falling asleep again.

Claire drove in silence for a few minutes, as Matt listened to Peter’s breaths grow deeper and more even, before finally speaking, quiet, but with a sharp edge underneath. “Explain.”

Matt sighed. “He’s mine.”

“Yeah,” She scoffed, “I would hope so. I mean, why is he staying with you?”

He tensed, felt himself bristling. “Because he’s my _son_ , Claire.”

“Yes, and you’re a vigilante! I pulled a bullet out of your shoulder 3 weeks ago, and now you’re telling me you’re equipped to raise a toddler?”

He took a deep breath before responding and felt his fists clench reflexively at his sides.

“He doesn’t have anyone else. His mother and- and stepfather are dead. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

Claire considered this for a few moments before responding, and Matt listened to the city fly by outside the car. “Are you going to stop?” He didn’t respond, but his hesitation was answer enough. “Matt, you can’t- you can’t _do_ this. You can’t drag a _child_ into-“

“I’ll figure it out-”

“Yeah? Before or after your son finds you bleeding out on the living room floor?”

“What the hell do you _want_ me to do then, Claire?”

It came out louder than intended, and both adults froze. Peter made a soft snuffling sound into his bear and shifted a little bit, but otherwise didn’t stir.

“What do you want me to do?” He continued, softer. “Let him grow up in the system that turned me into _this?_ You know why he was at the hospital tonight? His foster father got drunk and decided he deserved a broken arm for sneaking out of bed for a snack. And Peter thought it was _his_ fault for making him mad. I know-” He scoffed, turning away from her. “I know I’m not exactly cut out to raise a kid, alright? I get that. But I’m the reason he’s here in the first place, and I can’t just- I can’t just throw him away. I owe him more than that.”

Claire sighed, long and sad and resigned, “You’re doing a good thing, Matt. Really. But you-”

“I’ll be more careful.”

She stopped at a red light, and gave him a long, searching look. “Will you? Because this changes things, Matt. You have to _get_ that. Because if you don’t it isn’t just Foggy and Karen losing their friend anymore. You’re all he has left - if you’re going to do this, you have to remember that.”

Matt sat silently for a moment. Guilt and worry weighed him down heavily as he absorbed what Claire was saying. Finally, he nodded solemnly. “I will. I promise.”

They fell quiet, the silence more comfortable this time, before she cleared her throat.

“Well then, tell me about him.”

In spite of himself, Matt smiled.

-

Claire parked along the curb, the familiar sounds of his block surrounding him as he extended his cane and got out of the car. She leaned forward slightly as he made his way to the backseat. “You need a hand getting up?” She asked, because she was one of the only ones who could.

Matt actually considered the offer for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah,” he said simply, “I got him.”

Peter didn’t stir when Matt opened the back door, even when doing so made Jack fall to the ground. He only woke up when Matt carefully unbuckled his seat belt and began to lift him out of the car, and then, only long enough to put his good arm around Matt’s shoulder and mumble into his neck, “Bye-bye Miss Claire. Thank you for driving us.”

It was barely intelligible, muffled and slurred with sleep, but try as he might, Matt couldn’t bite back a fond smile. From the front seat, Claire gave a soft laugh. “It’s no problem, Peter. Goodnight.”

As Claire drove away, he paused on the sidewalk for a moment, adjusting his grip on Peter, who lifted his head from where it rested on Matt’s shoulder, and looked around blearily. “Home now?” He asked, still half-asleep.

Matt’s throat ached, and he found himself blinking rapidly behind his glasses. “Yeah, Pete. We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop by my [writing tumblr](rexcorvidae.tumblr.com) and leave me some prompts/headcanons/just scream at me about peter parker and all his dads
> 
> comments/kudos are your friends!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt had been in some significant pain in his life. Knew intimately how it felt to be stitched up without anesthetics. How it felt to shift a bone back into its proper place. But this pain was _new_. It pierced his chest and threatened to suffocate him, because he’d never felt so fucking useless. 
> 
> Peter was _sobbing_ , curling into himself as much as he could with his splinted leg, smelling like sadness and fear and pain, because he wanted his mommy, and he wanted to go home, and all he had was Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this isn't really a chapter.  
> it's like, a half-chapter? a chapterling? for the sake of keeping the chapters a reasonable length ~~and getting that Validation™~~ , i decided to split the next chapter into two, and post this part today, because I was really happy with how it came out. 
> 
> the next part (with the home visit) should be out in a few days, so stay tuned!

So, there was an issue.

A small one.

Matt had started getting his place ready for Peter –ordered a bed (not a racecar one, in spite of Foggy’s impassioned arguments), a small chest of drawers, a bookshelf. Hell, he even had a _TV_ installed, because kids liked that, right?

He was just… missing some things. Like, blankets. Or pillows. Or clothing. Or a fridge containing something other than 3-day old Thai food and a single beer.

In his own defense, he wasn’t expecting to have to be ready for a while. A few weeks, at least.

(And, okay.

Maybe, in some dumb, soft, sentimental part of his brain, he’d had this vague plan of taking Peter out with him to pick out his own sheets and toys and clothes, because he still didn’t feel like he knew the kid all that well, and he thought that maybe they could spend some time together outside of the DCS office and- well.

Whatever. It was fine.) 

The point being, Matt was a little unprepared.

Peter, of course, couldn’t have cared less. He grumbled when Matt made him change out of his bloodstained pajama top into one of Matt’s own t-shirts (which he practically swam in, _God_ he was tiny), and was asleep before Matt could finish explaining that _your room isn’t ready yet, so you’re gonna sleep in my room tonight, and tomorrow we’ll get yours all set up, okay?_

Which, honestly, might have been for the best. Because Matt’s self-control was wearing thin now that he was home, and every time he let his guard down, he found his thoughts wandering to the trunk in the closet just a few feet away. To how _good_ it would feel to put on the suit inside of it, to go out and do something that would quiet the Devil still fuming in his chest.

But, of course, he couldn’t do that. Because doing that would require leaving Peter alone, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t want Peter’s memory of his first night home to involve waking up to find Matt a bloody mess.

( _“I’ll figure it out-_

_“When? Before or after your son finds you bleeding out on the living room floor?”)_

So, no.

Daredevil-ing was not an option, at least not right now, but he felt _useless_ just sitting on his couch doing nothing. So, he did what he usually did when he had the urge to do something stupid. He called Foggy.

It went to voicemail, which was understandable – a quick tap on his watch informed him it was half-past 1 in the morning – but that was fine. He had just opened his mouth to leave a message when his phone buzzed in his hand, chirping _Foggy, Foggy, Foggy_ into the quiet of the apartment.

Matt flinched and answered it quickly just to get it to _shut up_ , but Peter didn’t even stir.

“Are you dying?”

He rolled his eyes (even as a traitorous part of his brain pointed out, _that’s fair_ ) “No.”

Foggy sighed, still half-asleep. “Then why are you calling me at- 1:27 AM? Matty, _please_. Not all of us can mind-over-matter our way through the day on obscene amounts of coffee and no sleep. Some of us need _both_.”

Matt huffed out a laugh. “Sorry. I know it’s late, I just, uh- I need a favor.”

There was the shifting of blankets on the other side as Foggy sat up straighter. “A favor? Matt, what’s going on?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the stress headache he felt forming. “Peter is staying with me.”

“Yeah, buddy.” Foggy said gently, after a beat. “I know. You ignored my excellent arguments about why having a race-car bed is an essential part of an American childhood.”

Matt sighed. “No, I mean, Peter is staying with me _now_. As in, he’s currently asleep in my bedroom.”

Foggy paused and considered this. Then, in a carefully measured tone: “Okay. Does his case worker _know_ he’s staying with you, or…?”

“No, Foggy. I kidnapped my own child, and now I’m calling to implicate you as an accessory.”

He could practically _hear_ Foggy rolling his eyes. “It’s too fuckin’ early for sarcasm, man. What’s going on, then? Is he okay?”

The anger welled up again, and Matt felt his control slip a little. “Aside from the broken arm?” He asked bitterly. “He’ll be fine.”

Foggy let out a harsh breath, fully awake now. “Jesus, Matt. What happened?”

Matt gave him the story in a tight, clipped tone, not eager to relive it but also relieved that someone else knew, that someone else was angry about it.

“Shit,” Foggy sighed, “So, what? They just signed guardianship over to you, no questions asked?”

“Well,” Matt grimaced, “Kind of. I may have threatened their office with a very public civil suit if Cindy didn’t let Peter come home with me. She, uh, isn’t exactly thrilled with me right now. She and her supervisor are going to come over around noon to do a home inspection, and if that goes well, then I’ll get temporary guardianship until the hearing.”

Foggy groaned. “I don’t have to explain to you why that wasn’t the smartest idea, right?”

“I know. But I couldn’t just- “

“Yeah, I get it, Matty. It’s your kid. So, what do you need me to do?”

Had Matt mentioned how much he loved Foggy? Because he did. So much.

“Many times. But by all means, continue. My capacity for compliments is vast and boundless as the sea.”

_

Talking to Foggy made him feel better. More in-control. Foggy would come over in the morning to drop off some essentials, since Matt was reluctant to drag Peter out shopping after the night they’d had. They’d make the apartment look a little bit more like it was a place where a toddler could live, and if something _did_ come up, they would deal with it. As Foggy reminded him, Matt had a damn good lawyer on his side if it came down to it.

Feeling more secure, he’d stretched out on his couch and drifted off listening to Peter’s deep, even breathing in the next room.

It was his fault, really. He should have known that things wouldn’t be that easy.

He woke up to the sound of something hitting the floor. Or rather, some _one_. He heard a familiar heartbeat flutter with pain, and a wavery voice call out, “Mommy?”, before dissolving into childish, confused tears that made his heart ache.

He crossed the apartment in long strides, panic building steadily because _he’d only had the kid for one night and he’d already gotten hurt, what was he thinking, why did he think he could do this, what if he’s-_

Peter was on the floor in front of the bed, silk sheet pooled around him that must have been dragged off when he fell. Matt felt like an idiot. He hadn’t even thought about how the bed was probably _tall_ for a child, especially one as small as Peter.

Matt crouched down in front of Peter, cradling his head gently in his hands as he felt for blood, palpating it carefully to listen for fractures. There was small bump on the back of his head where he must have fallen, but his arm and leg didn’t seem to have been jostled too badly, and otherwise, he was unharmed.

Tiny hands reached out to clutch at the front of his shirt, and Peter sniffled. “Where’s Mommy?”

So distracted by making sure that his son wasn’t bleeding into his brain Matt hadn’t even stopped to wonder _what_ woke Peter up. He blinked at his son, baffled.

“What- What do you mean?”

“I _heard_ her!” Peter snapped wetly, furiously, one tiny fist hitting the ground to reinforce his point. “I heard her, she was talking to me and-,” He cut himself off, looking around the room frantically like she would walk out of the closet. “Where _is_ she?”

Matt closed his eyes and listened a little more carefully to Peter’s heartbeat. It was still sluggish, and he realized with a pang that Peter was still half-asleep, half-dreaming. Was that what dreams felt like, when he was that age? That people were still real, still talking to you, just while your eyes were closed?

“Peter,” he said gently, smoothing a hand through his son’s wild curls, “It was just a dream.”

“I was _talking_ to her!” He repeated through tears, “She was _here_ , where _is_ she? Mommy?” He cried frantically. “I want my mommy!”

Matt had been in some significant pain in his life. Knew intimately how it felt to be stitched up without anesthetics. How it felt to shift a bone back into its proper place. But this pain was _new_. It pierced his chest and threatened to suffocate him, because he’d never felt so fucking _useless_.

Peter was _sobbing_ , curling into himself as much as he could with his splinted leg, smelling like sadness and fear and _pain_ , because he wanted his mommy, he wanted to go _home_ , and all he had was Matt.

“Peter,” he tried desperately, “Pete, kiddo-,” He reached forward and put a tentative hand on one shaking shoulder. Peter reacted immediately, curling against him unselfconsciously the way only children did, seeking out comfort from whoever was there to offer it. He wrapped his arms around Peter carefully, rocking him gently and pressing his cheek against his hair.

“You’re okay,” he muttered desperately, “I’m here, Peter. You’re okay.”

When Peter’s cries showed no sign of stopping, Matt acted more on instinct than anything else. He scooped Peter up in his arms, letting him bury his wet face in the crook of his neck, and began walking around the apartment, swaying him gently like he was soothing an infant.

“You’re alright, kiddo,” He whispered against Peter’s hair, “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was reassuring Peter or himself.

Peter’s anguished sobs faded slowly, giving way to frequent sniffles with the occasional fresh bought of quiet tears, and without entirely realizing it, he found himself humming.

It was a song he vaguely remembered his own father singing to him, a fuzzy memory from before the accident, when he was miserably sick and very small. It had been late, and he was unable to fall asleep because of the sharp ache in his throat, and his father had held him in his lap and sung lowly, slightly off-key, but it had been the only thing that was able to lull him to sleep against the pain in his throat.

_A long, long time ago,_

_I can still remember how that music_

_Used to make me smile._

He didn’t remember most of the words and didn’t bother trying. Just hummed the familiar melody as he walked around the apartment, swaying gently as he went, until he heard Peter’s eyelashes flutter as he closed his eyes, and felt him grow heavy in his arms.

Matt slumped slightly, suddenly exhausted. Which didn’t make sense, because he’d done more on less sleep, but listening to Peter cry and cry and being able to do nothing but hold him until he wore himself out was… difficult. Sharply, exquisitely painful, and hopelessness weighed him down as he wondered what he was supposed to _do_. How he was meant to fix this, or if it would go away on its own.

Sighing, he laid Peter carefully on the couch, all too aware of the dangers of his own bed. He’d have to figure something out when it started getting light outside, because at this point it was nearing 5, and Peter needed all the sleep he could get. But, he thought as he tucked the blanket tightly around his son, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

For now, paranoia and personal experience told him not to try to get back to sleep. He padded his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and began going over case files on his table and listening to Peter’s deep breathing as the city slept around them.

-

Peter didn’t stir until the light streaming in from the windows became too bright, and then only to grumble sleepily into Matt’s shoulder as he carried him back to his bedroom (which he had tentatively convinced himself was safe, so long as he was awake to make sure Peter didn’t fall again).

As the morning wore on, Matt found himself restless, and began pacing about the apartment uselessly, looking for something to do. He gathered Peter’s discarded, bloody shirt from the night before, and sorted through the contents of his bag until he found a small, soft creature with one plastic eye missing and long ears that were slightly stiff with dried blood. He threw them both in the wash (on the gentlest setting, because as he threw in the rabbit he had a sudden, horrifying vision of the thing just _disintegrating_ in the wash and having to explain to Peter that he’d accidentally destroyed the toy he’d gotten from his dead mother), and did his best to sort out the rest of Peter’s clothes by feel.

When he heard Foggy exit the cab downstairs, relief flooded through him at the prospect of being able to _do_ something.

He met Foggy at the door, all too aware of Peter sleeping in the next room.

“Hey,” Foggy said, laden with bags, “You look like shit.”

Matt held out his hands to relieve Foggy of his burden and sighed. “Thanks.”

“Rough night?”

Matt hummed in agreement and didn’t elaborate. The sting of Peter calling out for Mary and crying desperately when Matt was the only one there hadn’t quite faded, and he wasn’t ready to poke at that wound.

Foggy considered him for a moment before deciding that whatever Matt wasn’t telling him could wait, which he was ridiculously thankful for.

“Is the kiddo still asleep?”

“Yeah. I’ve got him in my room.” Setting the bags down on the counter, he began sorting through their contents – finding sheets, and pillows, and a respectable array of groceries, along with the breakfast Foggy still carried. “Foggy,” He said seriously, “Thank you for this. Really.”

Foggy waved him off and held out a much higher quality cup of coffee than the one quickly cooling on his table.

“Don’t worry about it. Gotta cement my place as ‘World’s Best Uncle’, right?”

Matt snorted but couldn’t bite back a fond smile. “Yeah, whatever. How much do I owe you?”

“Matt-,”

“Foggy-,”

“It’s an early birthday present then, okay? You’re not allowed to complain.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, some foreign emotion filling his stomach. “Yeah, alright.” He said thickly. “Thank you, Foggy.”

Foggy joined him at the counter, setting the breakfast aside to help Matt unpack the bags, and nudging him gently with his shoulder.

Neither of them was good with emotions, not unless one of them (Matt) was dying or half-dead. But they were good at this. Silent touches and gestures. Small things that said _You’ve got this_. _I’m here_. _You’re not in this alone_.

Matt leaned closer to him, enjoying the feel of having someone he trusted and cared about sharing his space. Listened to the steady, sluggish beat of Peter’s heart in the next room, and felt some of the hopelessness from last night fade, and it occurred to him that maybe, maybe this wasn’t as impossible as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](rexcorvidae.tumblr.com)!!! ask questions/send headcanons/give me prompts/etc!! i love to hear from y'all


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His lapse in attention to the task at hand cost him - the knife slipped as he brought it down to split an apple half into quarters, and nicked the side of his finger, bringing the scent of iron with it.
> 
> “ _Shit_.” He hissed.
> 
> “Swear word.” Peter noted solemnly from his perch on the counter, watching him with mild interest.
> 
> From the bar, Foggy snorted into his plate. 
> 
> The traitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Back again?  
> Double update to apologize for the sudden hiatus - thank you all for your wonderful comments and patience!!!  
> Infinite thanks to the wonderful greensatins, who beta'd these two chapters when I was sick of looking at them  
> Explanation for the absence in the end notes of the next chapter!!

By the time Peter began to stir, Matt and Foggy had already stowed away the assortment of what Foggy had deemed Responsible Adult Groceries, and finished making up Peter’s room.

Matt’s head whipped around when he heard Peter start to wake, and he didn’t notice the fond, amused look Foggy shot him. “He up?”

“Almost.” Matt hummed. “I’m gonna go-”

“Yeah, of course. Should I- does he do okay around strangers, or…?”

The familiar feeling of shame and embarrassment came back as he gave Foggy a half-shrug. “I, uh. I don’t really know? He did okay meeting me…?”

Foggy nodded, and there was no judgement, or disapproval, or any of the other reactions Matt probably deserved for knowing so little about his own child, but then, of course there weren’t. He just gave a considering hum and said “Alright. We’ll play it by ear.”

When Matt entered his bedroom Peter was pushing himself into a sitting position and looking around sleepily. His heart gave a pleased flutter when he saw Matt, which made his own heart do a stunt in his chest.

“G’mornin’.”

Matt gave him a smile, wondering a little at how quickly he seemed to recover from last night. “Morning, Pete. You feeling better?”

Peter shrank a little at the mention of what happened, but gave a shy nod. “Uh-huh.” A beat, and then: “Sorry.”

“Peter.” Matt said firmly, perching on the side of the bed awkwardly. “You don’t have to apologize, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Peter nodded, and gave him a quiet “Okay”, but Matt could tell that he didn’t believe him. He bit back a frustrated sigh. It had been a long, shitty night, and Peter being a little gun-shy still was understandable. They’d work through it. They had _time_ to work through it.

“Hey,” He added, softening his tone a little. “Do you remember my friend Foggy? He was there the first time we met?”

“Like-the-weather.” Peter repeated dutifully.

Matt huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Well, he came over earlier to bring me some stuff, and he’s in the living room. Do you want to see him? It’s okay if you don’t,” He rushed to add when he heard Peter’s heartbeat quicken a little, “I just thought- well, if you’re okay with it, I think he’d like to meet you for real.”

He couldn’t tell if he was convincing or not. Truth be told, he kind of _needed_ Foggy with him right now. It was just- he’d learned, over the years, that a lot of what had happened to him was unacceptable - was even able to accept on a superficial level that he hadn’t deserved it - but there were still times when he’d casually mention something that had happened to him when he was a kid, only to feel Foggy and Karen’s horrified, furious gazes on him.

Essentially, his barometer for what was and wasn’t normal for a kid was irrevocably fucked. And what if he- _God_ , he wanted to do right by this kid, take care of him and make him feel safe, and loved, but what if he fucked up without even realizing it?

Foggy was different though - he was whole, and good, and sensible, and never afraid to call him out when necessary, and Matt knew it wasn’t fair, but that sense of a safety net was doing wonders for the anxiety that had been choking him all night.

Peter considered his offer seriously for a moment, but eventually gave a little nod. “Okay.” Matt keyed in on his heartbeat - nervous, but honest.

Matt’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Okay.” He repeated. “Let’s get you some clothes, yeah?”

Matt turned to leave, but as he did Peter started to shift, scooting himself over to the edge of the bed at a slightly alarming speed, and Matt whirled back around to catch him.

“Woah. _I’ll_ go get some clothes for you, you just- just stay where you are until I get back, okay?”

Peter huffed slightly, frustrated at being told to wait now that he was more awake, but returned to his original position and made an affirmative noise.

Some foreign instinct took over, and before he realized it Matt was absently running a hand through Peter’s curls. He froze midway, worried he’d crossed some sort of line, but before he could do anything about it, Peter leaned casually into the touch - either not noticing or caring about Matt’s awkward, stiff posture.

It made something new in his chest ache, and he ducked back into Peter’s room to grab some clothes to avoid thinking about it, picking out items by feel and hoping that they all more or less matched. He returned and set the pile in front of Peter, who just stared up at him expectantly.

Oh, god. Was he an idiot? _Could_ 3 year-olds dress themselves?

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh. Do you need help?”

Peter gave an incredulous little huff. “ _No_ . ‘M not a _baby_. I have to brush my teeth first, ‘else I get toothpaste on my clothes.”

Ultimately, getting Peter ready was a fairly simple affair. He waited obediently on the bathroom counter while Matt dug slightly frantically through his bag to find a little plastic toothbrush with some kind of cartoon character etched into the handle, and only needed Matt to keep him from putting his shirt on inside-out.

The bandages wrapped around his ankle were proving to be a problem. Peter didn’t seem to mind being carried, but judging by the way he fidgeted and swung his legs every time Matt set him down somewhere, he had very little patience for not being able to move around on his own.

Of course, dealing with that would mean taking him to a doctor to get him a walking boot, which would mean _finding_ a doctor, which was an overwhelming prospect in and of itself, considering his general strategy for injuries and illness was ‘Call Claire if absolutely necessary’ and ‘well, it’ll pass eventually’, respectively.

He pushed that thought to the side for the time being.

“You ready?” Matt asked as they stood in front of the door. Peter’s heartbeat was a little nervous, but he didn’t seem _scared_ , which Matt took as a good sign.

Peter gave him a nod, much more chipper now that he’d had a chance to wake up. “Uh-huh.”

Matt opened the door, and felt Peter’s head tilt as he eyed Foggy curiously.

“Hi kiddo,” His friend smiled, “I’m Foggy, I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

Peter perked up the same instant Matt felt himself flinch, but before he could say anything Peter piped up excitedly, “You knew my daddy?”

Foggy tilted his head, brows creased with confusion, “Uh, yeah,” He nodded, giving Matt a questioning look, “Matty and I went to school together.”

Peter deflated instantly.

“Oh,” he sighed, “Mr. Foggy, Matt isn’t my daddy. My daddy’s name was Richard.” He used the same gentle, explanatory tone he’d used last night. It didn’t sting any less the second time. “Matt says we’re family though!” He added brightly, “That’s why I live with him now. Right?”

Matt put on what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Yeah.”

Foggy was quick to recover.

“Oh, okay,” He replied brightly, tone masking his obvious confusion. “Also, Pete, you don’t have to call me, ‘Mr.’ okay? Just Foggy is fine.”

Peter’s eyes widened comically. “Like _grown ups_ do?”

He heard Foggy make a soft sound in the back of his throat, and found that his own smile came a little easier. “Yeah. Like a grown up.”

“ _C_ _ool_.”

“So, Pete,” Foggy said brightly, “You wanna go check out your new room?”

Peter wiggled excitedly in Matt’s arms. “Can we?”

Matt subtly readjusted his grip and gave Peter a fond smile. “‘Course we can.”

Foggy made a big show of starting a drum-roll before opening the door to Peter’s room, but upon seeing it, Peter only had eyes for one thing.

“LP!”

He squirmed alarmingly in Matt’s grip, little hands reaching towards the bed even as Matt obediently walked him over, and as soon as the bed was within reach, wriggled out of his father’s grasp entirely to clutch the stuffed rabbit (who had, to Matt’s great relief, survived her trips through the washer and the dryer with all her stuffing and remaining eye intact) like it _hadn’t_ been less than 12 hours since he’d seen her.

Peter looked up at him, delighted. “She’s all clean now! Thank you!” He scooted back over towards Matt to wrap two little arms around his waist, LP stuffed securely between them.

The gesture surprised him a little, and it took a moment before he carefully returned the embrace, hands resting lightly because Peter still seemed so fragile. “It’s, uh- it’s no problem, kiddo.”

Peter withdrew first, and began examining the rest of his room now that his most pressing concern had been addressed, and Matt felt the light but insistent pressure of Foggy’s hand on his arm as he led them to the threshold.

“You haven’t told him yet?” Foggy asked softly, incredulous.

Matt sighed. “I tried.” He responded flatly, “It didn’t work.”

“What do you mean _it didn’t work_?”

“He’s _three_ , Foggy,” He snapped, “He doesn’t exactly _get_ biological paternity.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “He… Richard _was_ his father. He was the one who changed diapers and took care of him when he was sick. I’m just… some guy who says he knew his mom.”

“ _Matt_ -” Foggy’s heart fluttered with pity, and it made something ugly and defensive rear up in his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek guiltily and pushed it back down, because Foggy was his _friend_ , he was trying to help, and he didn’t deserve to be snapped at just because _Matt_ was a fucking absentee-father.

“I’m not saying I’m never going to explain it to him,” Matt argued tiredly, “I just… he doesn’t get it right now, Fogs. It’s fine.”

And it was. It was _fine_ . _He_ was fine.

“What’re these?” Peter asked from the bed, making Foggy jump slightly, like he’d forgotten he was in the room.

Matt turned to him, grateful for the distraction. “What’s what, Peter?”

“The little… guys? On my blanket.”

Foggy smiled, and walked over to the side of Peter’s bed and crouched so he was at eye level. “Oh! That’s R2-D2. From Star Wars?”

Peter cocked his head to the side, curious. "What's Star Wars?” Foggy's heart jumped excitedly.

God.

Why had Matt invited him here?

What had he _done_?

"Oh, _buddy_ ", Foggy said eagerly, "We are gonna have the best movie night _ever._ "

-

Peter was _fascinated_ by Star Wars. He listened to Foggy attentively, LP resting in his lap, while Foggy told him about midichlorians and pod-racers, gesticulating wildly the whole time.

(Matt, by the way, was absolutely _not_ jealous that Foggy had managed to build more of a rapport with his kid in 10 minutes than he had in weeks.

Not at all.)

He had to admit, though, it was nice to see Peter come out of his shell a little bit. He’d never had enough time to fully relax during their visits, and after last night...

But now he was different - animatedly asking Foggy questions, reacting almost comically to the escapades of Luke and Han and Leia. It felt _good_ seeing him like this. It felt like relief.

(Even if it did mean he’d be forced to listen to the Star Wars trilogy _again._ )

He sat on the bed next to Peter, adding his own sarcastic commentary occasionally, mostly to annoy Foggy, which had the added benefit of making Peter giggle at their bickering. At one point, he very casually burrowed under Matt's arm and draped it around his little shoulders and rest against his side, and after a moment of surprise, Matt found himself slowly relaxing into the gesture.

It was - odd. Different. _Really_ different, but it was also… it felt _good_ . It felt like family, and home, and _god_ , he was getting soft, but he _liked_ it. He liked _this_.

(Then, of course, there was that ugly voice in the back of his mind, the one that told him _this is what Stick meant when he said attachments are weaknesses. Look how vulnerable you are now. Look how vulnerable you’re making_ him.

He pursed his lips against the thought, pulled Peter a little closer. The idea of Stick ever being in the same room as Peter made him sick to his stomach. _I can protect him_ , he argued back, _he won’t be vulnerable, because I’ll keep him safe._

He tried not to think about how it felt like a child making excuses.)

They might have lost track of time that way, but Matt heard Peter’s stomach growl lowly, and realized _oh, kids have to eat_.

“Peter,” He said, interrupting Foggy’s explanation of the difference between the republic and the empire. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Peter considered him skeptically. “Can Foggy keep telling me about Star Wars?”

He couldn’t bite back the smile that tugged at his lips, especially when Foggy responded for him, faux-incredulously, “ _Duh_. You know what makes Star Wars even better?”

“What?” Peter asked seriously.

“Pancakes! I got us some earlier. Does that sound good?”

Peter gave a neutral shrug. “Oh. I’ve never had those. But I’ll try them!” He promised brightly

Foggy paused and looked at him. “You’ve never had pancakes?”

Peter gave an affirmative hum. “Mommy said you can’t cook pancakes in the microwave” He informed them sagely.

Foggy’s heart indicated that he very much wanted to ask more about that - and honestly, Matt kind of did as well - but he seemed to think better of it.

“Oh,” he said instead, “that makes sense. Well, I'll let you in on a little secret.” Foggy leaned in conspiratorially, and Peter fixed him with a rapt gaze, like Foggy was offering him the secrets to the universe. “They're the _best_.”

-

Honestly, Matt should have known things were going too well.

Peter stayed happy and animated right until Foggy (with much flourish) put the plate of pancakes he'd brought for breakfast in front of him.

Almost instantly Peter seemed to deflate, and shrink back into himself.

Foggy seemed to notice too, and he tilted his head, concerned. “Pete? Is everything okay, kiddo?”

Peter's eyes flitted between Matt and Foggy anxiously, and he shrank down further in his chair. “Uh. I can't eat these. I'm sorry.”

_Mommy said I'm not supposed to eat anything a stranger gives me unless I saw them make it._

Oh, shit.

Matt was an idiot.

“Peter,” he coaxed gently, “these aren’t- they’re fine to eat. Foggy isn't a - you can trust him, okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Foggy added encouragingly, clearly baffled but trying to hide it, “They're- uh- they're good.” He finished helplessly

Peter’s little heart thumped anxiously as Matt floundered.

“It’s okay!” He tried hurriedly, making to push away from the table, “I can wait ‘till later, it’s-”

Matt put a hand lightly on the back of Peter’s neck to keep him in place. “Pete,” He said firmly, feeling more out of his depth with each passing second, “You’ve got to eat _something_ .” He wasn’t sure about most of what came with parenting, but he was sure about _that_.

“I _can’t_ ,” Peter argued stubbornly. “Mommy _said_ -”

“ _P_ _eter-_ ” Matt nearly snapped, feeling an frustration creeping into his own tone.

“-Unless I got it from her or daddy, I’m not supposed to eat it if I didn’t see it get made, ‘else I’ll get sick again, she _said_ so-”

And before he could open his mouth to respond, Peter let out a watery hiccup. “Please don’t be mad.”

Instantly he felt himself deflate, the frustration that had been building in his chest giving way to guilt as he took in the way Peter sat in his chair, curled up and making himself small.

“I’m not mad, Peter,” He sighed, “I just need you to eat your breakfast, okay?”

Peter’s voice was wobbly with anxiety and irritation. “No! Mommy _said-_ ” Matt felt his face twist in annoyance before he could stop it, and could _hear_ the moment Peter saw it, the moment Peter shrank back in on himself and dissolved into hiccuping tears

And God, he _knew_ it wasn’t fair, the urge to snap at Peter, he _knew_.

He was only 3, and in a brand new place with a man he barely knew, because the _last_ man placed in charge of him broke his fucking arm. He was freaked out and hungry and he missed his parents, Matt _knew_ but it was just-

He just wanted Peter to _eat_ something - just wanted him to stop crying, because all he could think about was how he hadn’t even had Peter for 24 hours, and he was already failing at the most basic of parenting tasks, and how did he ever think he could _do_ this?

“Peter,” He said, deliberately softening his tone “Pete, kiddo, don’t- please don’t cry.”

Peter valiantly tried to suppress the next sob that came out of his mouth, and clumsily wiped at his face, “‘M sorry.”

“No,“ Matt bit back a curse, “No, I didn’t mean- I- I’m not mad at you, okay? I _promise_ , Peter, I’m not mad. You don’t have to apologize.”

Peter sniffed again. “Okay.” He responded, quiet and unsure.

“Alright,” Matt tried, “How about- what did your mom make you for breakfast?”

“Fruits,” Peter sniffed again, though his heart rate said he was starting to calm down. “An’ cereal.”

Matt let out a breath, and shot a grateful glance in Foggy’s direction, because thanks to his grocery trip, that was something he could work with.

“Well,” He said with a little more confidence, “Foggy got us a big box with a bunch of different kinds of cereal. How about you pick one you want to eat, and I’ll cut up some apples for you?”

Peter considered him for a moment. “I have to watch.” He insisted, far too serious.

And Christ, Matt _knew_ he shouldn’t encourage this fucking - this _food complex_ Mary had apparently passed down, knew it wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t- he just felt so totally out of his depth. And Peter’s heartbeat was calming down, and he wasn’t crying anymore, and if this would get him to eat _something_ , then- whatever. Fine.

He gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. “You got it.”

-

No, Peter did not want milk in his cereal, thank you, and he seemed kind of baffled by the idea. He picked his preferred cereal out of the variety box (some sugary thing filled with that reeked of dyes and artificial flavorings and- good God, was Matt going to be _that_ kind of parent?), and peeled back the plastic wrapper with a practiced efficiency.

He picked at his dry cereal, and watched Matt intently from where he’d been placed on the counter.

Matt, in turn, keyed on Peter as he sliced the apples - listened for fear, anxiety, any sign that something was about to upset him again. He’d never been so grateful for his enhanced senses - Peter seemed to alternate between sudden bursts of emotion and clamming up entirely, and without them he’d have next to no idea what was going on in that kid’s head.

His lapse in attention to the task at hand cost him - the knife slipped as he brought it down to split an apple half into quarters, and nicked the side of his finger, bringing the scent of iron with it.

“ _Shit_.” He hissed.

“Swear word.” Peter noted solemnly from his perch on the counter, watching him with mild interest.

From the bar, Foggy snorted into his plate. 

The traitor.

-

Foggy sat at the bar, picking halfheartedly at his own breakfast and shooting Peter worried glances. He was clearly disturbed by Peter’s… outburst, but seemed unwilling to risk upsetting him more by asking about it, because instead he gently restarted their earlier discussion of Star Wars like nothing had happened.

Peter reciprocated, but was much more subdued, like he was still half-expecting them to start yelling at him.

It made Matt’s chest ache, and seemed to have a similar effect on Foggy, because when Peter declared himself full (even though he’d only eaten half his cereal, and a quarter of his apple, and how much _were_ toddlers supposed to eat?), Foggy leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Hey, Peter, I have a surprise for you.”

Peter perked up immediately, curiosity piqued. “Really?

“Uh-huh. But you have to close your eyes, okay?”

Peter nodded, and quickly clenched his eyes shut, squirming a little with excitement.

“So, Matt said you like Legos?”

“Yeah-huh!” Peter chirped back eagerly swinging his legs back and forth to expel some of his newfound energy. “They’re my _favorite_. Daddy got me a firehouse set for Christmas last year. He said we couldn’t get any more because they wouldn’t fit in Mommy’s suitcase, but I built it a bunch’a times.” Foggy paused from where he was digging through a bag under the table at the suitcase comment, but seemed to shake it off and continued.

“Well _that’s_ good,” He said with exaggerated relief when he’d returned, “Otherwise I’d have to return _this_.”

Peter didn’t respond, and Matt bit back a chuckle and nudged him gently with his shoulder. “You can open your eyes now.” He stage-whispered.

The effect was instantaneous. Peter went still, taking the box Foggy held out to him reverently. _“Woah_ ,” He said softly, “This is _so cool_!”

Foggy may as well have been offering him the holy grail.

“Well,” Foggy responded, “I was kinda thinking you needed something cool in your room, so if you want, I was hoping you could keep it.”

Peter’s head snapped up to look at him. “ _Really?_ ”

Foggy smiled fondly at him, “Yeah. One condition though;” Peter sat up a little straighter and looked and Foggy attentively. “You have to help me put it together.”

Without any warning, Peter launched himself at Foggy, nearly knocking himself off the counter to wrap his arms around his neck. Matt lurched forward to catch him, but Foggy was faster, recovering from his surprise in time to return Peter’s embrace and resettle him on the countertop. Peter was either unaware or unconcerned about his narrowly avoided tumble, and was letting loose an near incomprehensible string of “okay!”’s and “thank you!”’s into Foggy’s chest.

He laughed, still a little surprised, and cradled the back of Peter’s head carefully with his hand. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Peter pulled away to look at the box again. “450 pieces,” He said softly. “Do you guys wanna help me?” He asked, tone unmistakably hopeful.

“Tell you what:” Foggy bargained,”How about you get started on it, and once me and your d- uh, me and Matt finish cleaning up the kitchen we’ll come in to help, okay?”

Matt raised his eyebrows at that, which Foggy pointedly ignored in favor of scooping up Peter, box and all, and taking him into the living room.

He didn’t have to wait long - Foggy stayed just long enough to find some children’s cartoon that Peter recognized on the TV and get him settled on the floor before returning and tugging Matt into the corner, worry coming off him in waves.

“ _Matt_ ?” He whispered urgently, “What the hell- _Mary_ taught him that?”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who thought it was bizarre.

Matt sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “Yeah. Apparently she was, uh, very concerned about his safety.”

“Christ,” Foggy breathed, “That’s-” He cut himself off to glance back at Peter, who’s attention was split between the cartoon and the neat piles of legos he was arranging on the floor around him. “He’s _so_ little, Matt.

Matt thought back to the first time Peter had hugged him. All bony, fragile limbs attached to a tiny body. “Yeah.” He sighed, “I know.

-

Peter was buoyed considerably by the Lego set. He was still quiet, but it was due to a surprising degree of focus for a three year old, not anxiety or fear. He only broke his concentration to explain some plot point of the cartoon they were watching, and to turn and frown at Matt when he sat down on the couch nearest to Peter, instead of joining him and Foggy on the floor.

“I can’t see, kiddo,” Matt reminded him gently when he asked if Matt wasn’t going to help them. “Remember? I don’t think I’d be much help.”

Peter considered him silently for a few moments, and Matt worried he was disappointed, or upset, or-

“You can help sort them,” He decided. “There are little bumps on the top so you can feel how big they are. I mean-” He added hesitantly, “If you want.”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek. Pointedly refused to analyze the ache in his throat or the soft look he felt Foggy giving him. Smiled at Peter, and wondered a little at how _easy_ it felt as he slipped off the couch and onto the floor next to him.

“Sure, Pete. That sounds great."

Peter began explaining, with great seriousness, the importance of sorting out Legos before you started building (“‘Cause if you don’t, they make a big mess, and you lose the really little pieces”), and for the first time since he learned he had a son, that ugly, protective, furious thing that lived in his chest relaxed, settled by the presence of Peter next to him - fed, and happy, and _safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're already down here so think about leaving a kudos/comment!! i need validation to Live


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The issue Matt now had to face was this: punching a social worker in the face was definitely not a good idea.

Foggy had offered to stay for the visit, but Matt refused. He didn't want them to think he needed a  _ caretaker _ , he’d explained, jaw set, that he wasn't planning on taking care of his kid on his own.

Peter was deeply unconcerned about this departure. He looked up from the Legos in front of him long enough to chirp “Bye-bye!” in Foggy’s direction before going back to his work, not at all anxious about being left alone in Matt’s care.

That made one of them.

There was some stupid, terrified part of him that wanted Foggy to stay. Because he’d barely made it through  _ one night _ with the kid, and that night was filled with crying that Matt couldn’t console, and having Foggy there was just- it gave him perspective. 

Plus, Foggy was  _ good _ with Peter. Seemed to have some innate knowledge that Matt lacked about how to talk to little kids, because Peter had warmed up to him almost instantly.

But in less than an hour there were social workers coming to decide if he was a fit parent, and he was going to have to prove that he could,  _ would _ do this on his own.

So he saw Foggy to the door, and returned to sit awkwardly next to Peter, who had figured out how to construct Legos with a casted hand fairly quickly.

“So…” He floundered, “You, uh, you really like those, huh?”

Luckily, Peter could talk enough for both of them.

He chattered about his Legos, about the children’s show that was playing, about the opinions Jack and LP had shared with him about it. 

Matt hummed at the appropriate moments, threw in the occasional question, and tried not to feel too badly about how a three year old could carry on a conversation better than he could.

-

The visit started out well.

Or, maybe “well-enough” was more accurate, given that Cindy’s supervisor, a 30-ish man named Richard Eaton that smelled like cheap coffee, too much aftershave, and doubt, stuck his hand out for a handshake when Matt opened the door, and stood there with his hand sticking out for a good 10 seconds before Cindy, shocked and with an edge of annoyance, half-whispered “He’s, uh,  _ blind _ , sir? He can’t see what you’re doing.”

It was petty, certainly, but Eaton’s mortified heartbeat soothed some of his own frustration with the situation.

Still, they moved past it. Peter was pleased enough to see Cindy, although Eaton, for all his boisterous smiles, seemed to make him nervous. He quietly declined the candy the man offered, and leaned against Matt’s calf when he went to stand next to them.

For his part, Eaton did at least seem to know when he wasn’t wanted, and he gave Peter a gentle shoulder pat before retreating.

Peter relaxed a little when Matt scooped him up, even though his little huff said he was annoyed at being taken away from his work, and fiddled idly with a Lego piece in his hand, while Matt led the social workers around the apartment.

It shouldn’t have been as anxiety-inducing as it was, but every time one of them opened a drawer, or peeked in a cabinet, his skin crawled, and he had the urge to hold Peter a little tighter, like something terrible and incriminating would manifest and they would take him away forever.

Of course, it didn’t.

There was a moment, while they were in his bedroom, when Cindy opened his closet door, and her foot nudged the trunk on the floor there. His heart jumped to his throat, and any coherent thought went out the window in favor of wordless, roaring panic.

And just as quickly as it came, Cindy closed the closet door and went to inspect the bathroom. Matt fought the urge to let himself physically sag with relief.

They checked out Peter’s room last, and once they were satisfied there were no outright hazards, Cindy turned to face them. 

“So, Peter, do you like your new room?”

“Uh-huh!” Peter said, perking up at a question he had the answer to, “The blankets have little, ah, R- RD-” Peter let out a little huff, but before he could get too frustrated, Cindy picked up smoothly. 

“R2-D2’s? That’s  _ so cool _ , Peter! Do you like Star Wars?”

“Yeah! I haven’t watched the movies yet, but Mr. Foggy told me  _ all  _ about them during breakfast.”

Cindy’s head quirked just a little at the mention of Foggy, but her tone stayed chipper when she responded. “Wow, it sounds like you had a fun morning! Tell you what: How about you and I hang out in here and you can tell me  _ all _ about it, while Mr. Eaton talks to Matt outside.”

Matt went tense, but Peter nodded, oblivious to any tension, and squirmed a little in Matt’s hold. “Okay!” And then, turning to look at Matt, “Can I?”

He let out a breath through his nose, trying to dispel some of the tension in his chest, and gave Peter a smile. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

He carefully handed Peter off to Cindy, who settled him on her hip, where he immediately launched into a (fairly jumbled) recount of the stories Foggy had told him that morning, before following Eaton out into the living room and trying to keep from clenching his jaw.

“Foggy?” Eaton asked with false lightness once the door closed behind them.

“Franklin Nelson. My partner - we run a law firm together. He stopped by this morning to drop off some things for Peter.”

The social worker hummed, considering. “So,” He said finally, “Do you regularly rely on Mr. Nelson for necessities?”

His hand clenched involuntarily into a fist, and he grit his teeth against the outrage in his chest. “No.” He replied, forcing himself to keep his tone even. “We were at the hospital until about midnight dealing with the broken bones Peter got from the man you placed him with, so I didn’t really think he’d be up to shopping this morning.”

He heard a muscle in Eaton’s jaw jump, could smell frustration on the man a mile away, and it soothed him a little.

“Yes,” He gritted out, “Ms. Price told me you were… very distressed about the incident last night. And you have a right to be, of course-” He added quickly, “You have to understand, Mr. Murdock, we had no way of knowing that Mr. Robertson would do something like that. And I can assure you that with future placements-”

“There won’t  _ be _ any future placements.” Matt interrupted sharply. “Not for Peter. He is  _ my _ son. He’s staying with me. Unless you’ve found something in my apartment that suggests I’m an unfit parent?” Eaton’s stony silence was enough of an answer. “You’ve run background checks, you’ve seen my finances, so forgive me, Mr. Eaton, but I’m not sure I understand what could have given you the impression that staying with me isn’t in Peter’s best interest.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Eaton sighed, frustration coming through more clearly now, “You’re clearly a very smart man, and I understand you’re trying to make a point here, but-”

“Trying to make a point?” Matt echoed dangerously, “What I’m  _ trying _ to do is understand why you’re so hesitant to give me custody of my son.”

“Sir, despite what you seem to think, I promise, I’m not the bad guy here – I’m trying to look out for  _ both _ of you.” Eaton insisted. “Children are- they’re  _ messy _ . They move things from where you left them, they leave their clutter all over the floor – for a  _ normal _ parent it’s exhausting, but for you –  _ listen _ . I know caring for Peter seems easy  _ now _ , but what about when he starts moving your things around? What about when he leaves his toys out for you to trip over, or he wanders off when you're out in public? Mr. Murdock, be rational here - how can I, in good conscience, give full custody of a child to someone who isn't even capable of-”

The issue Matt now had to face was this: punching a social worker in the face was definitely not a good idea.

It was a monumentally bad one, actually, even if what Eaton said  _ was _ heinous, and he knew that, he  _ did _ , but those rational thoughts were being drowned out by the roaring indignation, by how satisfying it felt to clench his hand into a fist and start to draw his arm back, to-

“I won’t!”

Peter’s voice cut through the tension in the room like a knife – childlike and distraught. Matt’s half-raised arm dropped like it was filled with lead, and before he could think of something more useful than  _ shit, no, how much did you hear?  _ Peter hobbled towards them as fast as he could on his bandaged leg, squirming away from Cindy, who had just begun to emerge from the bedroom with him on her hip, as she cooed uselessly and tried to stop him.

His little heart was fluttering with twinges of pain from putting pressure on his ankle, and Matt rushed forward to stop him without really thinking about it. He crouched down to reach him better and felt little hands clutch at his shirt like a lifeline. “Peter, hey-”

“I won’t!” Peter promised him frantically, near tears. “I won’t do that, I’ll- I’ll pick up my toys and I’ll leave your things alone and I won’t wander off, I  _ promise _ , but I wanna stay here with  _ you _ , Matt, please,  _ please _ .”

Peter hiccuped, the smell of tears hitting Matt for the second time that day, and  _ oh _ , he wanted to hurt someone.

Well, not just  _ someone _ . One very specific, now very guilty ( _ good _ , you fucking asshole) someone who was standing awkwardly nearby, trying to decide if his presence would make things better or worse

Cindy saved him from having to make that decision by hissing “Can I speak to you outside,  _ sir _ .”

There was a mumbled excuse of “Give us a moment” that Matt didn’t dignify with a response, too focused on Peter’s anxious heartbeat, the little hiccuping sobs he was trying to swallow in between promises to keep his room clean and pick up his things, if only he could stay  _ here _ , please.

Somewhere underneath his anger, and the helpless feeling that filled him whenever Peter cried, there was surprise. Honestly, he still hadn’t been all that sure that Peter really  _ liked  _ him that much. He’d been affectionate, but Matt had chalked that up to the fact that he was 3, and instinctively latching onto any adult that was kind to him.

But Peter seemed frantic and terrified at the thought of leaving – not just at having to change homes again, but like he really and truly did not want to leave  _ Matt _ .

And that.

Was fucking terrifying, honestly.

Because it was one thing when he was just the less-shitty option, but Peter was crying and panicked, like having to leave Matt was a  _ nightmare _ , like there was no one else he’d rather be with. And that was- it was incredible, it left him floored, but it was also overwhelming. Peter just trusted him, totally and implicitly, and Matt wasn’t sure he’d ever deserve that. Wasn’t sure if he could trust himself not to screw it up, but- 

He had to try. God help him, he  _ wanted  _ to try.

“I promise not to leave my Legos on the floor.” Peter hiccuped, breaking the silence. “Or move your stuff around.”

Matt took his hand off of Peter’s shoulder. Took a few deep, steadying breaths, and focused on keeping his face neutral.

When the rage had simmered down to something more manageable, he scooped Peter up in his arms in a motion that was quickly becoming familiar, and pulled back so Peter could see his face.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

Peter nodded, slipping the knuckle of his thumb into his mouth. “’Kay.”

“It is not your job to worry about those things.” Matt told him seriously, “Mr. Eaton was - he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he shouldn’t have said that around you. You’re my kid, Peter. And nothing’s going to stop me from taking care of you – not leaving your toys on the floor, or moving things around, or- or  _ anything _ , alright? I… I’m with you, kid. No matter what. You understand?”

Peter was quiet for a moment, still not as confident as Matt wanted him to be, before giving a quiet, “Yeah” and hiding his face in Matt’s shoulder, evidently  _ done _ with the whole situation.

Matt could sympathize.

He ran a hand through Peter’s curls, and sighed deeply when he heard Peter mumbled into his collarbone, “I still promise, though”

He swallowed back the frustration that he felt rising, not at Peter, but at everything that was making him feel like he needed to promise in the first place. “Okay, Peter.”

They’d work on it.

They had time.

-

Eaton didn’t return from his hallway conference with Cindy.

“Some urgent business came up and called him back to the office.” She’d explained apologetically. 

He’d only really tuned in on their conversation towards the end, but soon enough to her Cindy hiss  _ “... wildly inappropriate, you can’t declare a parent unfit because of something you think  _ might  _ happen. You have no evidence to prove his disability would make him unfit , and if you keep up like this, he’s not going to have  _ time _ to file that civil suit, because I’ll report you for discrimination first.” _

Matt figured he could let the lie slide.

“Well, Mr. Murdock,” She continued professionally, as if she hadn’t just threatened her superior for him, “The home is clean, Peter has a room, toys, there’s food in the fridge. You’re going to want to get some outlet covers, but other than that, I didn’t see any issues.”

“So,” Matt began tentatively, “What now?”

“Well, long term, it means you’ll have temporary guardianship over Peter until your hearing. I’ll be dropping in about once a week or so until then to make sure everything’s going okay, and, should the hearing go well, about once or twice a month for the 6 months following. Short term, however-” Her face brightened a little, and she set a laptop on the table in front of Matt, “It means you passed.”

Signing felt less monumental than it did last night. Now it felt more like… relief. A weight off his shoulders, because terrifying as this experience had been, the idea of having his son  _ taken _ from him made his stomach turn.

He walked Cindy to the door, and felt Peter’s gaze on his back as he closed the door behind her. 

“Everything okay, kiddo?”

Peter looked at him for another beat, worrying his lower lip. “So I live with you now?” He asked, painfully unsure.

It made Matt’s chest ache. “Yes.” He nodded.

“Forever?”

Matt paused - “For… for as long as you want to.”

“Promise?”

Matt hesitated. He would fight tooth and nail to keep Peter with him, but making promises like that felt like he was jinxing them. He still didn’t know how the hearing would go, and if it went poorly then Peter would still have to leave, at least for a little while.

But anxiety was coming off his kid in waves, and he was waiting for Matt’s answer like it was gospel, and Matt just wanted him to feel  _ safe _ . 

“Yeah, Peter. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!!!  
> So first off, I want to thank all of you for your wonderful comments. Normally I try to respond to comments before I post a new chapter, but there are so many, and I really wanted to get these up, so I'll start replying to them once this gets posted.  
> Without getting too personal, my life took a pretty sharp downward turn a few months ago that I'm working on dealing with, and your comments always made my day.  
> I was also in school, and taking 19 hours, so between dealing with family issues and trying to keep up with my course load, this fic kind of took the backburner.  
> However! Summer is here, and I have a lot more time to devote to this fic!! That being said, knowing myself, and the mental issues I deal with, I can't promise a consistent update schedule? Though I CAN promise that there won't be another hiatus, at least for the time being.  
> That being said, I'm way more accurate on my writing tumblr [rexcorvidae](www.rexcorvidae.tumblr.com), so if you want an update on when the next chapter will come out, drop me an ask! Or if you just wanna talk about this 'verse/Peter Parker in general bc i love him so

**Author's Note:**

> i've got more chapters planned for this, with some actual plot, so if you want to see more, let me know! kudos/comments/etc are your friend! drop by


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